


May Love Only Last Till Morning

by PalavaRakkaus



Series: Hearts of Kirkwall [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: A very vague impression of plot, Anders(Dragon Age)-centric, Aposematic tagging, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Lovers, Fuck first, I have never touched the source material, I refuse to remove the next tag because I take no responsibility, I've been informed no one's super out of character apparently, It's mostly fucking honestly, M/M, Maybe fall in love later, Not as disappointing as I feared but avoid high expectations, Occasional appearances of other characters, Seriously they never shut up, Smut, Some Justice/Fenris, Some angst, That's Not A Joke, That's how real men do it, The stars know and they ain't telling, What possessed me to write this?, canon? i don't know her, caveat lector, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 83,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21533074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalavaRakkaus/pseuds/PalavaRakkaus
Summary: Anders finds that Fenris's lyrium tattoos are a temptation he cannot resist—Justice agrees—and to his surprise, Fenris ends up in his bed.Then it happens again, and again, and eventually Anders realises he's developed feelings for Fenris. That must be the stupidest thing he's ever done.And then he does something even stupider. Because of course he does.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Series: Hearts of Kirkwall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639237
Comments: 313
Kudos: 292





	1. In Which Anders Blames the Lyrium

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags.
> 
> I have never touched a single Dragon Age game, and I don't intend to. In case the tags didn't make it clear, I have no idea what I'm doing, I just took a bunch of stuff from your canon and did horrible things to it, and this is the reality we're living with. I had such fun writing this shit that I'm sharing it anyway. Read at your own risk (though I have been told I didn't do too badly, take that as you will).

It was the lyrium.

If Anders' eyes lingered a moment too long on the smooth curve of a tattooed bicep or on the tempting dip of a narrow waist, it didn't mean anything. Fenris smiled his rare dark half-smile, and the resulting sucker punch of desire left Anders breathless, but of course it did—even those not drawn to the lyrium fell for that smile. The white lines arching over the elf's chin and ending right below that full bottom lip drew his attention like a flame drew in a moth, but it was not Anders' fault that he wanted to taste that lyrium and that mouth and feel the weight of the elf's body on top of him.

Anders could only curse the cruel trick of fate that had brought someone like Fenris into his life.

He was a mage, so it was only natural he was both enticed and a little bit frightened by the lyrium, that was all fine, even expected. The problem was that it was embedded into the skin of someone who detested him, but he told himself he could live with his desire as long as he knew it was indeed the lyrium affecting him so, not Fenris.

Justice was not making his life any easier, though.

The spirit's interest in the lyrium was as deep as Anders' own, and even when Anders himself could control his eyes, Justice was always attuned to the elf to the extent that sometimes Anders could pinpoint Fenris's exact location in a crowd with his back turned. Justice yearned for Fenris with intensity that scared Anders, and when that mixed with his own desperate longing, he was left weak and aching.

And Fenris had no idea of the effect he had.

A part of Anders wished their paths had never crossed so that he would not have to deal with this unwanted, useless desire that would never lead anywhere.

Another part wished they would cross some more. Preferably in bed. Sometimes, during long, sleepless nights, he imagined that in great detail.

It was annoying how much Justice approved of such thoughts.

Later, he told himself it was definitely the lyrium that had him kissing Fenris.

Anders enjoyed teasing Fenris, and it was entirely the elf's own fault; he was so easy to rile up that it would have been downright criminal not to take advantage of that. If Fenris had not gotten annoyed and angry by every other thing Anders said, and if the results hadn't been so very enticing, Anders would have left him alone.

It was possible he had gone a little too far tonight, Anders had to admit when Fenris caught him by the collar of his robes outside the Hanged Man. Still, that wasn't enough to make Anders shut his mouth.

"You'd probably be a lot less of a bastard if you just got laid," he said.

Fenris's nostrils flared as threw Anders backwards against the wall, and before Anders had time to catch his breath, the elf was on him, pinning him to the hard stone with strong hands on his upper arms. Fenris's tattoos were alight, glowing bright blue in the dark of the night, and Anders could feel the heat of them sinking into his skin.

"You would be wise to hold your tongue, mage." Standing this close, bodies pressed together, Fenris had to tilt his head back to meet Anders' eyes, but still the elf managed to create the illusion of looking down at him. Anders was almost impressed. "Or one day, you will lose it."

He could feel Fenris's breath on his cheek, and the closeness of the active lyrium was making both Anders' magic and Justice shift right under the surface of his skin, demanding freedom.

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise," Fenris answered, his voice low and silky. "You would get into a lot less trouble if someone plucked the impertinent thing right out of your mouth."

He was still glowing, the blue of it reflecting from his eyes and creating odd shadows around them. The two lines of lyrium that curved over his chin and led to his lower lip were like a map to a treasure, and maybe Anders was suicidal, or maybe he was stupid, he didn't know, but there were temptations he could not bear.

He surged forward and pressed his mouth hard on Fenris's. The elf let out a shocked, pained sound as if he'd been punched and the lyrium flared brighter.

The kiss lasted only a few heartbeats, and then Anders pulled back, mind reeling. Fenris was breathing hard, his eyes wild and his lips parted. The blue glow of the lyrium hadn't dimmed, and the passers-by kept glancing at them and then scurrying away like mice frightened by a cat.

Shit, Anders thought as the gravity of his actions began to dawn on him. Goodbye, cruel world.

"Listen," he said quickly. "If you murder me now, you're out of a healer, and trust me, you are _so_ going to regret that one day. I'm only useful as long as I'm alive. Also, have I mentioned that Haw-"

With a low growl, Fenris pressed him harder against the wall and kissed him.

The moment their lips connected again, Justice surged in Anders' veins. The spirits unapologetic delight overwrote his own surprise, and Anders closed his eyes and surrendered to the rough pressure of Fenris's mouth on his. Fenris's breath was warm against his skin, the elf's entire body radiating heat in stark contrast to the cold of the night air and the stone wall behind his back. All Anders could hear was the drum of blood in his ears, all he could think of was Fenris.

A faint whine escaped Anders' throat and he parted his lips, and that seemed to drag Fenris out of whatever it was that had overtaken him. With a sharp gasp, the elf jerked back, his eyes flickering between Anders'.

For a moment, nothing happened, the both of them standing still. Anders didn't even dare to breathe as he waited for reality to find them again.

With a sharp shake of his head, Fenris let go of Anders's arms, turned on his heels and was gone before Anders had time to figure out what had happened.

 _All right_ , he thought once he could focus on anything else besides the ghost of warmth he could feel lingering on his lips. _I kissed Fenris and I've still got my heart intact in my chest. That's good._

What wasn't quite as good, he suspected, was that he was half hard in his trousers.

Damn it.

He took a moment to collect himself, to steady his breathing and his shaking legs, and then finally pushed himself away from the wall to make his way to Darktown.

He was halfway back to his clinic when he realised that though Justice had perked up when Fenris had kissed him again, he had done nothing to protect Anders when Fenris had pinned him to the wall, nor when he'd been sure the elf would kill him.

Useless spirit, Anders thought, though he couldn't blame Justice for being drawn to the sweet burn of the lyrium.

Anders couldn't decide if he was surprised or not to find Fenris appearing at his clinic late the following night, after the last of the day's patients had gone and Anders was attempting to write a few more words for his manifesto. A part of him had been expecting a confrontation all day, but another part had been convinced the elf would pretend the whole sorry episode had never happened, avoid him for a while, and soon they would both fall back to their tried and true bitter rivalry.

He hadn't managed to decide which option he would have preferred but now, with the elf standing there, as beautiful and dangerous as the lyrium in his skin, looking at him with all the considerable disdain he could manage, Anders was starting to lean towards avoidance.

Too late for that, of course.

"How can I help you?" Anders asked as he got up, laid down his quill and capped his ink bottle.

The look Fenris gave him in answer was promising a world of pain. "Why did you kiss me?"

Straight to the point, then. Anders shrugged, leaning against the desk, and attempted to seem casual. He was sure he wasn't convincing anyone.

"You're covered in lyrium. I'm a mage. These things happen."

It wasn't really that simple; Fenris didn't have other mages panting after him like dogs in heat. The lyrium would have tempted any mage, no doubt, but this level of lust was Anders' personal issue, courtesy of Justice, to some extent. Of course, he was not planning to explain _that_.

"Do they?" Fenris's voice was snide.

"Sure," Anders said. He turned back towards the desk and pretended to arrange the sheets of paper lying there. "Anything else I can help you with, elf?" _Another kiss, perhaps? You do have a lovely mouth._

He could feel Fenris's glare on the back of his neck like the cold brush of a gauntleted hand. "You shouldn't have touched me."

Anders dropped the papers back onto the desk and turned to meet Fenris's eyes. "But I did. It happened. It's done, it's over, it's in the past. Let it _go_."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. "That is all you have to say?"

Anders opened his mouth and almost said yes. Then, because Fenris was right and he had always been terrible at holding his tongue, he changed his mind.

"No. You know what, no, it's not all I have to say." He stepped away from his desk, eyes focused on Fenris's as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to know why _you_ kissed _me_."

Fenris's head jerked to the side as if Anders had slapped him.

"What, you thought I would just ignore _that_ little detail?"

Anders found himself rather enjoying this now. He took a step closer, and Fenris took a step back. The elf's lips were pressed together in a thin line and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. Tension was visible in every line of his body.

"You hate me." Another step closer, and then another, Fenris backing off ahead of him. "Yet you kissed me instead of sticking your hand right into my chest," Anders continued, and Fenris's breath hitched a moment before his back and the sword strapped to it hit the wall with a metallic clang. "I was expecting to die, Fenris, and you. Kissed. Me."

Brilliant green eyes flickered to meet his for a heartbeat before looking away.

It was the tempting call of the lyrium in Fenris's skin that had Anders taking one more step closer, close enough that the hem of his robes was brushing at Fenris's legs. "If it had gone on a moment longer, I would have had your tongue in my mouth." He put his hand on the wall beside Fenris's head and leaned a fraction closer, breathing the next words right into a pointed ear. "I wanted that."

Fenris made the same sound he'd made when Anders had kissed him, shocked and pained. Catching the elf by the shoulder with his free hand and pinning him to the wall, Anders closed the remaining distance between them, his lips almost brushing the corner of Fenris's mouth. He expected Justice to protest—he was clearly, deliberately overstepping his bounds, after all—but all he could feel from the spirit was anticipation.

"Do not taunt me, mage," Fenris snarled, but his voice was breathy and almost panicked. "It is dangerous to—"

His words were cut off by Anders' mouth on his, and this time his lips were already parted, an unintended invitation Anders could not refuse. He pushed his tongue into Fenris's mouth, and to his surprise, Fenris allowed it.

And, oh, that _mouth_. Anders had dreamt of that mouth, and now there was nothing else in the world but the unbearable sweetness of it against his as Fenris kissed him back. A man could get lost in a kiss like that, Anders thought as he pressed his lips harder onto Fenris's. The elf made a soft sound, his head tilted back against the wall, and one of his hands came to rest on Anders' hip. He was so willing, so sweet, that for a moment, Anders dared to hope that this could end well.

When he finally released Fenris's mouth, they were both breathing hard. Fenris's eyes were closed, and he sagged against the wall when Anders let go of his shoulder.

His point proven, a sensible man would have walked away and left him there.

Anders had never been that sensible.

"Elf," he called.

Fenris blinked his eyes open. He had an odd look on his face, desire warring with apprehension and bewilderment.

Anders wanted the desire to win. He wanted Fenris and all that glorious lyrium in his bed, between his legs, the consequences be damned. Just for this once, he wanted to have Fenris for himself.

Justice agreed. Fervently.

"Fenris. I don't know why or how, and at this point I don't even care, but you want me, and as it so happens, I have nothing against that. So. We could do something about that."

Fenris swallowed. "Your insolence isn't nearly as charming as you think." His voice was rough and not entirely steady. It sounded fantastic.

"Yes it is," Anders said and stepped close again. He could hear the shuddery breath Fenris took. "I'm _incredibly_ charming. I'm a lot of things, really. Attracted to you is among them. So, tell me no now. Push me away." He raised his hand to brush the hair out of Fenris's eyes. It was as silky as he had always imagined. "Because if you don't, I'm going to kiss you again."

Something shifted on Fenris's face, but Anders had no time to interpret the look before the elf caught him by the arms. Anders expected to be thrown clear across the room, and he knew he would have deserved that.

Instead, Fenris reversed their positions in one smooth, effortless move, and Anders found himself pinned to the wall for a change.

For a moment, they only looked at each other, faces only inches apart.

"Andraste's tits," Anders said. "Just kiss me already."

Fenris did, his mouth hard and hot and demanding on Anders', his sharp teeth catching Anders's lower lip between them for a moment. _Biter_ , Anders thought, delighted, as Fenris broke the kiss.

"I would suggest you abandon any illusion of being in charge," the elf told him, lips still brushing against his.

He almost laughed. "Best news I've had all day."

To his endless glee, he saw Fenris's pupils dilating as the elf pulled back.

"Ha! You like that!" Anders smirked, unable to hide his triumph. Oh, this was going to be _so good_. "I knew it! Bossy bastard."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "I have nothing against putting you in your place, mage."

"If 'my place' is on my back with you between my legs, then I suggest you hurry up."

"Your impertinence will be your death one day."

Anders was about to answer, but Fenris shut him up with another lyrium-laced kiss, and Anders didn't really mind. In fact, he was already planning to be as impertinent as possible if it got him kissed like that again.


	2. In Which Anders Gets What He Wants

The moments following the first few kisses were a blur. Somehow, they made it across the clinic without parting their mouths for more than a few heartbeats, hands clinging to clothing and hair as they kissed. Fenris's body was all heat and hard muscle against Anders', and Anders wanted him out of his armour to be able to feel him better.

Without a warning, Fenris broke the kiss and gave Anders a shove that had him stumbling backwards until his legs hit the edge of his bed and he fell to sit on it, breathless and shaky with desire.

"Undress," Fenris ordered. He unsheathed his massive sword from his back and rested it against the wall before his fingers went to work on the buckles and clasps of his gauntlets.

Anders didn't need to be told twice. His hands weren't quite steady, but it still took him only moments to remove his robes and boots and trousers and kick them into a messy heap on the floor. Once he was naked, he looked up to see how far Fenris had gotten.

When his eyes landed on the elf, Anders forgot everything else. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't close it.

There was no other word for it: Fenris was breath-taking.

Anders had gotten tantalising glimpses of the full extent of the lyrium markings before and was aware that they did indeed cover the elf's entire body, but seeing them like this, all at once, was something else. The silvery brands were beautiful, standing out in stark contrast to the warm brown of Fenris's skin. Even without them, Fenris's body would have been a work of art, fine-boned like any elf's yet covered in hard, lean muscle, but the markings emphasised every perfect curve and angle in a way that would have driven anyone with a pulse crazy.

"Maker," Anders whispered, voice hoarse. He couldn't remember ever wanting anyone this much.

Fenris looked at Anders and cocked his head. "What?"

Anders swallowed hard. "You're out of this world. You—" he gestured helplessly. "Andraste's _tits_ , Fenris, all that _lyrium_. How did I not kiss you sooner?"

Fenris gave him a strange little look before stepping closer. The easy, confident way he moved only served to highlight the perfection of his body further, and Anders would have been jealous if not for the promise of soon having all that beauty under his hands.

The way the elf's eyes were travelling up and down Anders' own body didn't hurt either—Anders rather liked the appreciative look in them. He lay down on the bed and stretched, arms above his head, arching his back off the mattress. Fenris licked his lips, gaze lingering somewhere on the vicinity of Anders's chest.

"See something you like?" Anders teased as he relaxed back onto the sheets.

Fenris's eyes returned to his. "For a mage, you are…" he paused, pursing his lips. "Not unappealing."

Anders scoffed. "Yes. Thank you. That may have actually been the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Fenris didn't seem to know how to respond to that. Anders rolled his eyes.

"Get in the bed," he told the elf, "and I'll let you do unspeakable things to my 'not unappealing' body."

He reached out and caught Fenris's wrist, warm skin and warmer lyrium under his palm—and Fenris flinched back, yanking his arm from Anders' grasp as if the touch had burned him.

"What?" Anders asked. "Did I…?" He didn't know how to finish. He didn't understand what he could have done wrong.

Fenris was looking at him with something akin to confusion in his eyes. "Do that again," the elf ordered, offering his hand to Anders.

Carefully, Anders took a hold of Fenris's wrist, and this time Fenris stayed still, watching Anders with narrowed eyes.

"Do this," Fenris said, and traced his own finger along the markings on his arm, right above where Anders was holding on to him.

Anders raised his other hand and copied Fenris's gesture. The lyrium made his skin buzz, and he wanted more of it, but not if Fenris was uncomfortable with his touch.

"Does it … feel bad?" he asked, worried. There was a chance his magic interacted with the lyrium in unexpected ways. He'd never know anyone with it branded in their skin, and something like that could come with unforeseen complications.

Fenris shook his head. "No. I…" He blinked at Anders. "It does not."

For a while, they looked at each other, neither of them moving. Fenris's eyes were very green, the kind a poet could have spent a page upon page describing. Anders wondered why he bothered to pay them any attention when he had the lyrium right there, warm against his skin, calling forth his magic.

Fenris shook his head and broke their gaze, and Anders forced his focus back on what they were supposed to be doing. He gave a gentle tug to Fenris's wrist, still held in his hand. "Come on then."

He lay down on his back again, and Fenris climbed into the bed, settling above him on all fours. Anders cupped the back of Fenris's head and tried to pull him down for another kiss, but the elf caught his wrist in an unbreakable grip. His palm was calloused and rough against Anders' skin.

"One thing, mage." Fenris's eyes were focused on his, dark and serious, with a hint of threat in them. "No magic."

As if Anders would have risked that, knowing how Fenris felt about it. He had no desire to get himself killed in the middle of what was no doubt going to be the most mind-blowing sex he'd had in years.

"No magic," he agreed. "Now if you would be so kind and _kiss me again_."

Fenris let go of his wrist and kissed him, hard and hungry, and Anders had no intention of keeping his hands to himself after that. He trailed them over Fenris's arms and back, the elf's skin unbearably soft under his palms, the lyrium everywhere.

Fenris kept kissing him as if he never intended to stop, one hand cupping his cheek and a thumb stroking over his stubble, the other moving up and down Anders' side in time with his breathing, fingertips following the curve of his ribs and the occasional jagged line of a scar. Those hands and their amazing lyrium markings on Anders' touch-starved skin may have been the best thing that had happened to him since he'd come to Kirkwall. He hadn't been with anyone in long while, and now his body was desperate for the touch of another living being.

Greedy for more, he allowed his own hand to slide down Fenris's flat belly, the muscles there jumping under his touch. The lyrium flickered where Anders touched it, sending sparks of pleasure through him as he trailed his hand lower until he could reach between Fenris's legs. He found the elf hard, and a shocked gasp escaped him as he wrapped his fingers around silky flesh. Fenris broke their kiss, and Anders looked down between their bodies. Fenris hadn't been exactly small when he'd been soft, but now—

"Well, now we know that you're not carrying around that ridiculously huge sword of yours to compensate for something."

Fenris pulled back a fraction. "If you are trying, in a very strange way, to flatter me—"

"At this point," Anders interrupted, "all I'm trying to do is to get this"—he tightened his fingers around Fenris—"inside me."

Fenris took a shuddery breath, and then his mouth was back on Anders', claiming him with enough force to leave him aching with need. He ended up clutching at Fenris's waist with both hands to ground himself, every inch of his body aching for more.

Sharp teeth sank into his bottom lip, and Anders whined. _Definitely a biter_ , he thought as he opened his mouth for Fenris. The elf didn't hesitate before he thrust his tongue in, taking Anders' mouth as if belonged to him, the pleasure of it dizzying, and Anders kissed back the best he could, happy to let Fenris take the lead.

He wanted Fenris everywhere, all over him and inside him and pinning him down so that he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but to take what Fenris had to give. Each firm touch of Fenris's hands left his skin tingling, and the elf's kisses were interspersed with delicious nips of sharp teeth. Anders wanted nothing more than to lose himself in this and to forget everything else but Fenris.

For one short, perfect night, this could be his entire world.

One of Fenris's hands stopped on Anders' chest, palm flat over his wildly beating heart, and Anders froze, all thoughts of need and desire suddenly gone. He was all too aware of the damage that slender hand could do to him. Cold sweat broke over his skin as he held his breath and tried not to think of dying.

Fenris released Anders' mouth and lifted his head. He looked at Anders with his brow furrowed, his hand still resting over Anders's heart.

"Fenris," Anders started to say, his voice somewhat higher than he'd intended.

The elf's eyes went wide and the fingers on Anders' chest twitched. He had to be able to feel Anders' too-fast pulse against his palm.

"No," Fenris said. "No, no, absolutely not." He pulled his hand back and knelt up to sit on Anders' thighs, shaking his head. "I would not—no. Not here. Not like this."

That wasn't exactly reassuring. Slowly, Anders nodded anyway. "All right." He was aware he didn't sound convinced.

"Is it?" Fenris asked, and when Anders nodded again, with a little more surety this time, the elf rested his hand back on his chest. "When I put my hand inside you, it will not be here," he promised, tapping Anders' breastbone twice with his forefinger.

Anders had to laugh at that, the tension bleeding out of his body. "I do hope you're not planning to put your _entire_ hand inside me _anywhere_. Seriously, elf. I'm as kinky as the next bloke, but even I have my limits."

The corner of Fenris's mouth curved up. "Not an activity suitable for the first time," he said.

Anders was certain he had an opinion on the matter, not to mention the right to state it, though if it was about Fenris considering putting his whole blighted hand inside Anders, or the possible implication that there would be a second time, he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he had no chance to say it before Fenris's mouth was on his again, hot and demanding, and all he could do was to accept the kiss and cling to the lean form pinning him down to his too-thin mattress.

When his lips were finally released, he was panting and too aroused to care about the future when he had Fenris right on top of him now, heavy and solid and covered in lyrium that made his skin prickle and both Justice and his magic go wild.

And then Fenris lit his tattoos all over, glowing above Anders like a blue star as he trailed a lyrium-covered hand down over Anders' belly. Anders shuddered, breath catching in his throat. It felt even better than he'd imagined, spreading tingling pleasure from the point of contact throughout his entire body.

"You are particularly sensitive." The elf tilted his head to the side, eyes focused on Anders' as his hand kept tracing distracting patterns over Anders' skin. "It's because of your, ah, spirit, is it not?"

 _Justice may want you even more than I do, and that's saying something_ , Anders absolutely did not say. He couldn't imagine that going over well.

"Maybe," he said, instead. "Have you any idea how that _feels_? You could make a man go _mad_."

A small smile crossed Fenris's lips. "I do try." His hand went lower, still glowing, and wrapped around Anders.

Anders' hips jerked up as he gasped helplessly. For a terrifying moment, he thought he would embarrass himself before they got any further, but Fenris pulled his hand back, the lyrium's glow dimming.

"Too soon for that, mage. Calm yourself."

"That's"—Anders swallowed—"that's easier said than done."

The smug smile Fenris gave him was infuriating, and then his hand returned to Anders' skin. Warm fingers danced over his hardness, barely touching, before the hand slid backwards, feather-light and almost tickling, and Anders wanted nothing more than to have those fingers inside, spreading him open, touching him where the pleasure would make him lose his mind.

"Wait," he said, pushing Fenris back. "Wait, I have…" He reached under his bed, found the little jar he kept there and pushed it into Fenris's hands. "Here. Come on. I want your fingers in me _now_."

Fenris raised an eyebrow but said nothing before opening the jar and slicking his fingers with grease. He didn't hesitate as he reached between Anders's legs again, two fingers gliding over sensitive skin and then pushing _in_ , slow and steady and unrelenting. Anders found himself whining as his body fought to adjust to the sudden intrusion, but he wanted it with something akin to desperation and did his best to stay relaxed.

Only when his fingers were all the way inside Anders, Fenris paused, his eyes rising to meet Anders'.

"More," Anders managed to say. "Don't stop."

Fenris did not stop. He kept his eyes on Anders' face as he moved his hand, deep, firm pushes into Anders' willing body. The way he twisted his fingers sent sharp jolts of pleasure through Anders and left him gasping until he was dizzy with it. Each thrust was almost unbearable in its sweetness, and Anders spread his legs wider, eager to take it all.

Fenris's eyes were drinking in every change in his expression, and Anders wanted Fenris to keep looking at him like that forever. The elf's attention had always left him giddy, and after this, he would never be able to look into those eyes without remembering them filled with naked hunger.

Without a warning, Fenris's tattoos flared, a momentary flash of brilliant blue, and this time, Anders could feel it where long, clever elf fingers were buried deep inside him. The pleasure was so intense it was nearly painful, and he cried out, hands clenching on the sheets. Fenris crooked his fingers exactly the right way, and Anders was seeing stars, his body arching off the bed, moments away from his completion.

"Stop!" he choked out, his voice hoarse and ragged, and the fingers stilled. "Please, Fenris, that's enough. I need you now!"

Fenris leant close, his lips brushing Anders' cheek, fingers still embedded inside him. "Impatient."

"Yes!" The need was driving him mad. "Yes, I'm impatient, well spotted, very perceptive of you. Take me _now_ , elf, or you won't get to!"

"For a man who claimed to want me in charge, you are rather demanding," Fenris said.

"Shut up and take me," Anders told him.

Fenris made a low humming sound, almost amused, and with a final wicked twist, pulled his fingers out. Anders hissed at the emptiness, but Fenris was already spreading grease on himself before moving closer, guiding Anders' legs to wrap around his waist. Anders held his breath.

There was pressure and slick heat pressing against him, and Fenris pushed in, all the way, filling him and forcing him open so wide it left him trembling, reaching deeper into him than anyone ever had. Anders would have called out his name, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a shaky whine. He didn't know if the pleasure coursing through his veins was his own or Justice's, but it didn't matter anymore. Fenris was inside him, right where Anders needed him, where Justice needed him, and Anders wanted more.

" _Move_ ," he ground out, hands rising to grip Fenris's hips. It may have been too soon, his body still protesting the sweet intrusion, but he didn't care. "Fenris, you have to—"

With a low snarl, Fenris moved, pulling out almost all the way and then filling Anders again, hard and fast enough to make him cry out. Then he did it again, and again, each time driving a sharp keen out of Anders, and Anders' world narrowed down to the merciless stretch and the pressure and the heat of Fenris's skin against his own.

His lean, strong body curving with unfair grace, Fenris bent down and pressed his mouth on Anders'. Anders whimpered and parted his lips, and Fenris's tongue pushed in, tasting him, taking control of his mouth with easy confidence Anders couldn't help but to adore.

They were both breathing hard when Fenris released Anders' lips. Anders looked up into the elf's lust-dark eyes, staring right back at him. He pulled Fenris closer, and the elf came willingly, his chest touching Anders' and the lyrium sparking at the contact again.

Fenris's hips kept up their relentless, near-brutal thrusts into Anders' body, and Anders had never been so full, so gloriously possessed by another living being. He could barely stand it, the pleasure burning like fire inside him, and when Fenris shifted the angle of his hips and found the right spot, Anders threw his head back, panting, hands grasping at any part of Fenris's body he could reach, fingertips digging into the elf's skin.

It was still difficult to believe Anders had gotten this perfect creature into his bed. No one would ever believe he'd been that lucky.

"Never stop," he whispered. "Never, ever stop."

Fenris seemed to be beyond speech, but he showed no sign of stopping. The way his lyrium mixed with Anders' magic made both him and Justice shiver, and Anders struggled not to lose the last shreds of control he still had. He would have kept begging for more, desperate to let himself be overwhelmed, but all he could manage were groans and cries that echoed in the silence of his clinic.

Above him, Fenris was gasping, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows drawn together, an almost pained look on his face. His lithe body gleamed with sweat that made the frantic slide of skin against skin smooth and easy, and Anders tightened his legs around Fenris's hips, pulling him closer, deeper, so deep it almost hurt.

"Fenris," he moaned, the elf's name the only word left in his head.

Fenris opened his eyes and met Anders', and then the lyrium lit up all along his body. The sudden heat that surged through Anders had him screaming, and for a moment, he saw everything through a blue haze as Justice surfaced.

Then Fenris leant closer, trapping Anders' aching flesh between their stomachs where it was pressed right against the brilliant blue markings on Fenris's skin. Anders arched up, clinging to Fenris's shoulders, palming at the lyrium brands with desperate hands as he was thrown over the edge of burning pleasure.

He could just hear the soft sound Fenris made as he, too, reached his peak, and then the world went blind.

Afterwards, as they lay curled together in the bed with Fenris's head resting on Anders' chest and Anders' fingers idly stroking through the elf's hair, he realised he hadn't felt this relaxed, this satisfied after sex in a long, long while. He'd expected it to be mind-blowing, and that it had certainly been, but he hadn't thought it would leave him so content. Even Justice was quiet for once, aside from what Anders didn't quite dare to call purring.

It wasn't really Fenris making him feel like this, though, Anders told himself as he trailed the tip of his forefinger along the silvery brands on the arm wrapped around his chest; it was the lyrium.


	3. In Which Anders Would Like to Brag, and Fenris Returns to His Bed

Waking up alone didn't surprise Anders. He'd never taken the elf for someone who would stay, especially in a mage's bed. That seemed too trusting, too sentimental.

That didn't mean he could avoid the sharp flash of disappointment when he realised Fenris had slipped away sometime during the night. He had liked falling asleep with the warmth of another living being pressed right against him, even if said being had been an elf who wasn't overly fond of him.

He had liked not being alone for once.

Anders shook his head to dispel the useless thoughts and dragged himself up. It seemed he was still addled by all that lyrium if he was pining after the elf, and he needed to get over that. It was all stupid and pointless.

He had work to do and patients to heal, and he needed to focus on that. Fenris was not important, and what had happened the previous night, though enjoyable, had not been a big deal. Despite what Fenris may have implied, it had been a one-time thing—nothing but a brief, meaningless moment in the grand scheme of things.

Determinate to concentrate on what mattered, Anders washed himself, got dressed, and opened the front door to let in the first patients already waiting outside.

Despite his resolution not to dwell on Fenris, Anders found his thoughts returning to the previous night whenever he wasn't careful to keep them in check. Every detail was clear in his head, every touch still burned on his skin. Sometimes, when he got up too fast, he felt a twinge where the elf had claimed him, and he feared that left him a little glassy-eyed.

Justice had no problem with such thoughts and distractions, but fortunately the spirit kept his own feelings to himself. The few glimpses of his thoughts that Anders got were filled with the brilliant glow of the lyrium, half light, half heat, and, to his surprise, images of large green eyes staring right at him. He didn't ask why that had made such an impression, and Justice didn't volunteer an explanation.

Anders would have never admitted it out loud, but a part of him found it a shame he couldn't tell anyone what had happened. For once in his life, he'd done something truly worth gloating about. _I bedded Fenris. How many of you have managed **that**?_

He suspected if he let any of that fall past his lips, Fenris would really rip out his tongue before going after his heart. Besides, he would have liked to think himself as a gentleman, more or less, and gentlemen did not brag about their conquests.

Not even when said conquest was the hottest elf in Kirkwall.

With a heavy sigh, he returned his wandering attention to his work. His patients deserved better than their healer fantasising about a stupid, pretty elf while cleaning their wounds and healing their aches.

For the most part, it didn't work too well, but if he appeared distracted and at times paused to stare at the opposite wall with what he suspected was a dreamy look on his face, his patients were kind enough not to mention it.

Evening came faster than Anders would have ever expected. He let the last patient out of the door and locked it, glad that there was no one who needed to stay overnight.

He had decided he should continue writing his manifesto to keep his thoughts in order and far, far away from Fenris, when there was a knock on the door. Anders' heart leapt, sudden hope making his skin feel heated all over. He had to take a moment to tell himself it wasn't Fenris before he could walk to the door and open it.

It was Fenris, but not alone. The elf was standing behind Hawke and Varric, arms crossed over his chest, a look of supreme disinterest on his face.

"Hello, Hawke, Varric," Anders said, determinate to keep his eyes focused on everything but Fenris. _I bedded our favourite broody elf, by the way. It was brilliant. I'd like it to happen again._ "Elf."

"Anders!" Hawke clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make Anders wince. "We've got work to do!"

Anders raised an eyebrow as he allowed his three companions in. "Now? What sort of work?"

"Not now. Tomorrow. There seem to be some slavers just asking to lose their ugly heads somewhere around Sundermount." Hawke waved his hand to a direction that Anders was almost certain was not towards Sundermount. His smile was wide and a little too enthusiastic. "Some poor woodcutter very nearly got caught by them, but he had the good sense to tell others, so we'll do something about it, and I'd like to have our healer with us."

"Sure," Anders said. He was struggling not to let his attention slide to the elf standing beside Varric. _Have I mentioned I slept with Fenris? Best thing that's happened to me in a long while. Have you any idea what that much lyrium does to a man? And to a spirit. Amazing, really._ "I'm sure I can spare a few days."

Against all logic, Hawke's smile managed to get even wider. "Brilliant." He pointed at Anders. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning at the gates, an hour after sunrise."

Anders nodded. "Sounds great," he said, with somewhat less enthusiasm than Hawke was projecting. His eyes were drifting dangerously towards Fenris. "Who else is coming?"

Hawke gestured towards Varric and Fenris. Anders' traitorous eyes followed and got stuck on the elf. Maker, how he wanted to kiss that scowl away.

Not that Fenris looked like he'd welcome it.

"Us four and Isabela. We can handle them."

With considerable effort, Anders tore his gaze away from Fenris and returned it to Hawke, silently cursing the draw of the lyrium. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right," Hawke told him, clapping him on the shoulder again. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Sure," Anders agreed. "Tomorrow morning."

With a wave of his hand, Hawke walked out with Varric.

Fenris lingered. Anders chose to take that as a good sign, and now that they were alone, he allowed his eyes to settle on the elf. It was unfair how pretty he was, how tempting. Anders' eyes followed the lyrium lines travelling down Fenris's throat and disappearing under clothing and armour. It was disturbingly easy to imagine putting his mouth there and trailing their pattern with his tongue.

"Are you planning to take advantage of me now that we're all alone?" Anders asked. He tried not to get his hopes up too much.

Fenris took a breath and opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, and still stayed silent. He refused to meet Anders's eyes, but showed no signs of leaving either.

Anders decided to be kind, for this once. "I do hope the answer is yes." He ignored Justice when the spirit pointed out it seemed less like kindness and more like desire; Justice wanted Fenris in Anders' bed as much as Anders did, after all, and was in no position to judge.

Fenris's eyes flew to meet his, wide and dark. Anders couldn't hide his self-satisfied smile.

"That looks a lot like a yes."

"Shut your mouth, you presumptuous—" the rest of the sentence was in Tevene, but based on his tone, it was nothing polite.

"Come on, Fenris, don't play coy. You stayed for a reason, and the most likely one seems to be that you'd like to have another go at bedding me. Which I would approve. Very much. So what's the problem?"

"The problem," Fenris snarled, "is that I don't like you."

Anders rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking you to like me. I'm asking you to bend me over and make me scream. I know you want me."

Which may have been a bit too cocky of him, but instead of getting angry—well, angrier—Fenris released a shaky breath and shifted on his feet. Anders waited.

"If I say yes…" the elf trailed off.

"It's not if, Fenris, it's when." _Definitely_ cocky, but Anders was feeling pretty good about his chances of having Fenris again.

"You truly are presumptuous."

"I'm adorable."

The corner of Fenris's mouth twitched upwards into a tiny, tempting half-smile, and Anders couldn't help smiling either.

"That's a yes," he said. "Isn't it?"

Fenris sighed. "It is a yes, mage."

Anders could feel his smile stretching into a grin. "I knew I'd get you." He sounded way too smug, but then, how many others had managed to pull Fenris? _Twice_? He had the right—no, the _responsibility_ —to be smug.

"You are so full of yourself, are you not?"

"I'd rather be full of you, if you know what I mean."

Fenris snorted. "Very amusing."

And then, before Anders could say anything more, he found himself once again pinned to the wall. Fenris's mouth was on his, all soft lips and sharp teeth. Anders kissed him back with fervour, his hands burying themselves in Fenris's hair to keep the elf close. Not that Fenris seemed inclined to go anywhere; his hands were gripping the front of Anders' robes, holding him still, and his mouth barely left Anders' between kisses.

Anders would have been happy to stay there, kissing for hours, but one gauntleted hand let go of his clothes and began to travel down his chest, lower and lower, a clear target in mind, and Anders' breath caught.

He grabbed Fenris's wrist, the metal covering it shockingly cold under his palm.

"You are _so_ not going to touch me there before you take your armour off, elf," he said.

He didn't manage to sound as threatening as he'd meant to, but Fenris pulled back enough to meet his eyes anyway.

"No?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Anders gave him a stern look and didn't let go of his wrist. "No. You'll leave me bleeding, and neither one of us wants that, trust me."

"Perhaps I would like to see you bleed," Fenris said, his voice low and silky and deliciously threatening.

Despite himself, Anders shivered. "You would _not_ ," he told Fenris. "Come on. Armour off, and you can have me." He grinned, leaning close enough to whisper his next words right into a pointy ear. "I bet you can make me scream _without_ making me bleed. Can't you, elf?"

Fenris's breath hitched—Maker, how lovely that sounded—and then the elf was pulling back.

"Bed," Fenris ordered, and Anders was happy to obey. He tightened his hold of Fenris's wrist and dragged the elf along with him across the clinic, his other hand already working on the fastenings of clothes.

Undressing took them both mere moments, and then Fenris was pushing Anders into the bed. Anders ended up with his face buried in the pillow, Fenris's entire weight pinning him down. The elf was hard against his behind, and Anders didn't want to wait. He spread his legs and lifted his hips, smiling to himself when Fenris moaned against the back of his neck.

"Take me," Anders demanded. "Right now."

Fenris didn't argue. He knelt up between Anders's legs and reached for Anders' little jar of grease, still wedged between the mattress and the headboard of the bed after last night. Anders kept his face buried in the pillow as the listened the sounds of Fenris readying himself, anticipation making his skin prickle.

Fenris's hand was still slick with grease when it gripped Anders' hip, pulling him up for a better angle, and Anders couldn't help the shiver that raked through his body as Fenris began to press into him, so thick and hard and delicious. The elf went slow, giving Anders time to adjust to the burning stretch, but finally he was in all the way, and Anders felt so full, the physical pleasure of being filled mixing with the dizzying knowledge that it was Fenris inside him.

"Move," he mumbled into the pillow as Fenris stayed still inside him, and the elf hummed softly.

The first thrust was slow and deep and perfect. Anders moaned, clenching around Fenris, his hands gripping the sheets. He lifted his hips and spread his legs wider, his body begging without words, and Fenris answered, the next thrust a little faster, a little harder. The elf's lips met his back, peppering his skin with soft kisses and delicious, sharp bites.

Slowly, Fenris's thrusts picked up pace until he was slamming into Anders, the sound of their bodies connecting loud in the silent room, and still Anders wanted more. They were both gasping, and Fenris's fingertips were digging into Anders' hips so hard it almost hurt. Anders would have sworn he could feel each line of lyrium pressed against his skin, a promise of unbearable pleasure.

Fenris lit up the tattoos, and Anders groaned deep in his throat as the heat of the lyrium travelled through his body. He was clutching the sheets in white-knuckled grip, and Fenris kept driving into him, filling him exactly the way he needed, owning his body in a way no one had dared in a long time. The lyrium made Anders' skin prickle and his magic spark inside him beyond his control, and for a hazy moment he thought he'd never be able to be satisfied by anyone else but Fenris.

One of Fenris's hands left his hip and worked itself between Anders' belly and the mattress, glowing, grease-slick fingers wrapping themselves around his aching hardness. His hips did not lose their perfect rhythm for a moment, and Anders buried his face in the pillow to muffle his cries of mounting pleasure.

Fenris's other hand caught him by the hair and yanked his head back, the pain of it sudden and sharp as it mixed with the pleasure.

"If I'm _kind_ enough to make you scream, you owe me the courtesy of letting me hear it," the elf snarled, his voice low and rough in a way that made Anders shiver.

Anders was in no position to disagree. Each of Fenris's thrusts into him forced a high keen out of him, and every noise he made seemed to urge Fenris on. Pleasure was coursing through Anders' body, focusing between his legs until it left him tense, on the brink of release. Fenris panted against his back, unsteady breaths cooling the sweat between Anders' shoulder blades, as close to losing control as Anders was.

Fenris came first, gasping half-formed words against Anders' back as he filled Anders with slick heat. His hand didn't stop working on Anders, and Anders followed him down, screaming helplessly and clenching around the elf as Fenris pushed him over the edge and into blissful oblivion.

Anders had barely enough time to recover before Fenris was rolling him over onto his back and curling around him, head on his chest. He let out a soft sigh when Anders dragged his arms up and wrapped them around him.

Anders hadn't expected it, but Fenris seemed to like being held, after, and it occurred to Anders that maybe he wasn't the only one starved for touch; maybe Fenris was as desperate for kind hands on his skin as Anders was.

He found that thought comforting.

The fading lyrium-high left Anders warm and drowsy and satisfied, and he smiled at the high ceiling above them. One-time things happened again sometimes, it seemed, and maybe his addled state was to be blamed, but he felt that this particular one could keep happening, often, and he wouldn't mind at all. Justice thought it justified, and Anders wasn't surprised. It was clear the spirit enjoyed Fenris's touch as much as Anders did.

"This could work, you know," he said before his higher thinking could catch up and point out what a terrible, dangerous idea he was suggesting.

Fenris lifted his head, blinking his eyes open. "What could work, mage?" He sounded sleepy, and it wasn't fair how adorable that was. Anders wasn't supposed to find Fenris adorable.

"This." Anders gestured between them with one hand. "Us. You know, sleeping together. On regular basis."

He wasn't sure why Fenris looked so shocked. It was a mad idea, of course, but Anders must have been mad to bed someone like Fenris the first time; a little more madness could not hurt either of them.

"What? It's been good so far, hasn't it?"

Green eyes narrowed. "Well, yes, I suppose, but—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me, elf, I'm just asking you to stick it in me every now and then."

Fenris burst into surprised laugh and then clapped a hand over his mouth. Anders snorted as he watched the elf try to supress his mirth.

"Come on, you're going to say yes again."

Fenris lowered his hand, but the corner of his mouth was still twitching. "Did I mention you are presumptuous?"

"Yes, yes you did." Anders pushed a hand into Fenris's hair, allowing his fingers to tangle in the white strands. It was nice. "You may have been right."

"I hate you."

 _Not as much as you like to pretend_ , Anders thought, and squeezed him closer. Fenris made a disgruntled noise but settled against him again, and Anders reached for the blanket and pulled it over them. Soon after, the elf was asleep, his warm breath puffing slow and steady over Anders' skin.

He hadn't exactly given Anders an outright yes this time, but in this case, Anders thought it safe to assume that until proven otherwise, the complete lack of a no did indeed mean that. Smiling, he tightened his hold of the elf and allowed himself to follow him to sleep.

He couldn't remember much of the nightmare when he woke up. There was nothing more than the vague impression desperate eyes staring at him, begging, and the guilt that ate him up inside like lye, all wrapped in overwhelming fear that left his heart hammering against his ribs.

For a long while, he lay there, on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing as he waited for the fear and guilt to ease and his heartbeat to return to normal. The sweat cooling on his skin made it sticky, and there was tightness in his throat like a cruel hand wrapped around it.

Beside him, Fenris stirred, curled on his side facing away from Anders. Anders blinked; in his panic, he'd forgotten the elf was there, so close in the narrow bed that now when Anders was paying attention, he could feel the heat of Fenris's skin radiating to his arm.

The sudden relief of not being alone had him gasping. He rolled to his side and pressed his forehead between Fenris's shoulder blades, right against the brands of lyrium curving over the elf's spine.

Fenris mumbled something in his sleep but didn't seem to be waking up, and Anders dared to slip his arm around the narrow waist. The now-familiar scent of Fenris's skin filled his lungs as he breathed in, more comforting than he would have imagined. He closed his eyes and focused on that and the steady rise and fall of the elf's chest.

Slowly, the closeness and heat of Fenris's body drove away the memory of the dream, and though Anders couldn't fall asleep for a long while, it was good to have someone there to hold. It didn't matter it was just Fenris; the elf would have not spared an ounce of sympathy for Anders and his dreams, but he was still warm and solid and very much alive in Anders' arms.

There was always safety and comfort in not being alone, and right then, that was all Anders needed.


	4. In Which Anders and Fenris Share a Private Moment

The first day of their travel was uneventful. Varric helped to pass the time by telling stories he liked to claim were all true, or at least _based on true events_. Anders translated that to mean _glorified lies_ , but didn't say that out loud. He didn't want Varric to stop, after all.

No matter how amusing the stories were, Anders found it hard to focus on listening. He tried, he truly did, but the moment he let his guard down, his thoughts were drawn to Fenris.

That morning, he'd woken up again with Fenris still in next to him, curled into himself under the covers, asleep and vulnerable in Anders' bed—in a _mage's_ bed. As he'd lain there beside the elf, he'd wondered if it meant that Fenris … trusted him? A little?

It was a strange thought, but one Anders found himself liking. Fenris was a wild thing, endlessly dangerous to those he deemed his enemies and slow to trust anyone, but he had given himself to Anders twice now. It was only lust, not the beginning of some great friendship, but Anders appreciated it nonetheless.

Anders had enough enemies in the world without someone as fierce and deadly as Fenris being one of them. Fenris would never be an ally, but if they could reach some kind of neutral ground even outside the bedroom, it would make Anders' life much easier.

As they walked, Anders found himself throwing glances over his shoulder at Fenris, walking behind the rest, eyes alert. More than once, he had to quell the pointless urge to slow down and walk beside the elf. Fenris would have not allowed it, but Maker, how he wanted it anyway. It must have been the endless draw of the lyrium, pulling him towards the elf. Being able to touch it hadn't made Anders want it any less, it seemed; it had only intensified his need for it, made both him and Justice even more aware of it.

Before Fenris had slipped out of Anders' clinic that morning, the elf had paused for a moment, standing close to Anders, hesitating, watching Anders with those gorgeous eyes of his. Anders couldn't get over the feeling that Fenris had considered kissing him then.

The entire thought was ridiculous, of course. He wasn't sure how to define their arrangement, but whatever it was, goodbye kisses were not a part of it. They kissed when they had sex, and when they weren't in bed, or about to get there, it would have been pointless to waste their time on something like that. Kissing was such a sentimental, foolish thing to do when it wasn't a prelude to carnal pleasures, especially since it was clear Fenris really didn't like him much.

He glanced over his shoulder again and found Fenris looking at him. When their eyes met, the elf bared his teeth in a soundless snarl.

Definitely not a start of a great friendship, Anders thought. He forced himself to concentrate on what was ahead and kept walking.

They made camp on a small clearing in a copse of low, weather-beaten trees when the sun began to set. Despite not running into any trouble that day, they were all weary after a whole day's walk over rough terrain, and after a quick supper, they crawled into their tents.

Anders had the first watch. The night was cool and dark around him as he stood at the edge of their camp, full of sounds one did not hear in Kirkwall. Leaves rustled in trees, something small scurried through the underbrush, and somewhere, in the distance, a bird screeched, high and sharp.

He'd travelled enough, both alone and with company, that the noises of nature didn't worry him, but they always drew his attention more than the city noises he was more used to. They made him aware of how small and alone he was there, in the wilderness, with everyone else asleep in their tents.

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed, and he tried to distract himself by directing his thoughts towards something else. Keeping watch offered a perfect opportunity to compose the next chapter of his manifesto in his head, but once again, he found himself distracted by the image of Fenris. It seemed the elf had gotten inside his head too, and now Anders couldn't think of anything or anyone else.

He wondered what would have happened if he'd shared a tent with Fenris.

Probably a fight, he had to admit, but a man could always dream about a secret encounter with his lyrium-enhanced lover. Not that Anders could have kept quiet enough for the others not to hear it if Fenris had had him, but the thought still had its appeal.

He was addicted, Anders decided. Two times had been enough to get him hooked on the lyrium, and it was too late to stop now. Some distant part of him wondered if it could ruin him, but Justice assured him they'd be fine—he wasn't experiencing the lyrium itself entering his body, only the effects of it.

And what lovely effects those were indeed.

He cursed under his breath, gave up, and allowed himself to think of all the wonderful things Fenris could do to him until his watch was over and he went to wake up Isabela to take his place.

Justice didn't complain.

Anders woke up before dawn to the faint chitter of birds and found Justice restless. With a heavy sigh he sat up, already aware that he wouldn't fall asleep again. Varric was snoring on his own bedroll, and Anders decided there was no point in staying to listen to that.

Silently, he dressed, grabbed his staff and slipped out of the tent.

Fenris had the last watch. The elf was standing at the edge of the clearing, still as a statue in the dark. He did not acknowledge Anders' presence. For a moment, Anders had to struggle not to stop and stare. It was unfair how gorgeous the elf was, even when he was nothing but a lean silhouette among other shadows.

With a shake of his head, Anders turned his back to the elf and headed away from the camp. He needed a moment on his own to clear his mind, he decided. If anyone but Fenris had been awake, he would have stayed and kept them company, but since it was only the elf, it was better to keep his distance instead.

Anders stayed alert as he walked. He was aware how vulnerable he was alone in the wilderness, even with Justice and his magic. As dangerous a place as Kirkwall could be, the world outside it was even more dangerous, though in a different way. At least Anders was used to the dangers of the city; here, he was never entirely sure what to expect.

They'd gotten their water from a small stream the previous night, and now Anders headed towards it. He could hear it before he reached it, tinkling over rocks.

He followed the stream for a short while before stopping where it formed a small pool. The water was clear and cold as Anders laid down his staff and leant over the bank to splash some on his face. He cupped his hand and drank, and then settled to sit on the dewy grass, tilting his head back to look up. The eastern sky carried the faint suggestion of sunrise, a hint of blue amid the velvety black, the stars fading slowly.

It was a relief to be alone with his thoughts for a moment.

Well, as alone as Anders could ever be. Justice was nagging at him; the spirit wanted to go back to Kirkwall, where Anders' work was, where they could do something about the mages that were in templars' hands. Nothing Anders could say made Justice calmer, and soon Anders gave up and did his best to ignore him.

He hadn't sat there for long before Justice perked up inside him, Kirkwall and mages suddenly forgotten. Anders turned to look over his shoulder, already aware of what he would see.

Fenris was walking towards him, easy, graceful and near noiseless through the tall grass. He was beautiful in the dim predawn light, impervious and untouchable.

"Missed me, did you?" Anders asked as the elf got closer.

"Do not flatter yourself, mage," Fenris snapped and stopped beside him.

His hair seemed to gather the little light there was into itself, shining like silver and moonlight. It looked silly, Anders told himself. Definitely silly and not pretty at all.

"Yes, yes. Let me guess: Hawke sent you, didn't he? You didn't just choose to follow me on your own."

Fenris shrugged, which Anders knew meant yes. He tried not to be too disappointed by that. Sleeping together a few times, no matter how good it had been, didn't mean that Fenris _cared_.

It didn't mean that Anders wanted him to care, either.

"So, I guess this means I need to get up so we can go back."

"There is no rush," Fenris answered. His voice had gone very soft, and he rested his hand on Anders's hair, his touch gentle despite all that sharp metal covering his fingers. It was amazing how he didn't get strands of hair caught between the metal plates, nor scratched Anders with the claw-tips designed to hurt.

It occurred to Anders that it had to mean Fenris had experience on this. How many others had the elf touched with his hands covered with those gauntlets to learn to be so careful?

Justice _snarled_ at the thought, and Anders would have laughed at that if he hadn't found himself a tiny bit jealous too.

"Er," Anders started, trying to push the useless emotion away. "Are you planning—"

Fenris's fingers pulled the tie loose from his hair.

"Hey!" Anders protested, even as inside him, Justice cooed with delight.

Ignoring him, Fenris got down on one knee beside him, long fingers still running through Anders' hair. The elf's eyes were travelling over Anders' face, almost searching.

"What are you doing?" Anders asked. The words sounded rough to his own ears.

Fenris shrugged. His gaze slid away for a moment before it returned to Anders' eyes. The heat in it was clear even in the faint light. He pushed a few strands of hair away from Anders's forehead, the metal of his gauntlet cold and smooth against Anders's skin.

It was getting rather obvious where this was heading.

"You are planning to debauch me," Anders accused. "Right here, out in the open where anyone could catch us."

"Possibly," Fenris admitted as he leant closer, his lips brushing Anders's cheek. "Are you going to let me?"

As Anders said nothing, the hand that wasn't in his hair went to work on the fastenings of his clothes.

"I didn't say yes, elf."

Fenris tilted his head to the side. He wasn't showing any signs of stopping what he was doing. "Nor did you say no. You could have. You still can."

He was right, and Anders wasn't planning on saying no, but he felt he couldn't make this too easy for Fenris. The elf deserved to work for it, since he was such a rude bastard whenever they weren't sleeping together.

"Now it's you who's being presumptuous."

Fenris's mouth twitched, and he kissed Anders' cheek. "Fair is fair, mage," he said.

Anders rolled his eyes. "You—" he started, but one of Fenris's hands, still covered in sharp metal, was making its way to where Anders was hardening in his trousers. He caught Fenris's wrist. "Stop. You really need to stop doing that." He glared at Fenris, though he was aware that he could never achieve quite the same effect the elf did—Fenris had a lot more practice, after all.

"Doing what?" Fenris looked honestly confused, but he didn't try to pull his arm from Anders's grip. "Touching you? You did not say no."

"Touching me with the bloody gauntlets on, yes! I can't decide if I should be more threatened or aroused!"

"I should like you to be a little bit of both," Fenris said. With his free hand, he caught Anders's chin and tilted it up. "Now, be quiet." And he leant in for a kiss.

When it came to Fenris's kisses, Anders had no resistance, but he could not be blamed for that; how could any man with his heart still beating in his chest resist that mouth? Fenris could have kissed him in the middle of the Hanged Man, in front of everyone they knew and a roomful of strangers, and Anders would have let it happen and begged for more.

"Tell me yes," the elf said against Anders' lips.

Caught between his own endless need and Justice's desire, Anders could not refuse. "Yes," he said.

Fenris pecked him on the cheek, and to Anders' relief, went to remove his gauntlets.

Once his hands were bare, Fenris took Anders's face between them, thumbs stroking across his cheekbones. It may have been a trick of the barely-there light, but the elf was giving him a look that seemed surprisingly warm and soft. Anders hadn't known his eyes were capable of such tenderness.

"Maker." Anders swallowed, unsure why he felt suddenly so nervous. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fenris's only answer was a low hum as he pushed one of his hands into Anders's hair, fingers tanging into the strands as he tilted Anders' head back before kissing him. It was gentler and slower than any kiss Fenris had given him before, the kind that made Anders glad he was sitting down, since his legs were starting to feel wobbly.

Then the hand in his hair tightened its grip, the next kiss rough and demanding but no less arousing. Anders allowed his mouth to be taken without resistance, and Fenris growled and pushed him backwards until he was lying on his back on the ground. They were still kissing, and Anders was getting lightheaded, his breathing fast and ragged.

Fenris released him with a gasp and pulled back, blinking at him. For a while, all they did was look at each other.

Fenris broke the gaze with a sharp shake of his head, and then his hands were between Anders' legs, opening his trousers and pulling him out of his smalls. After the kisses, the light touch of his fingers was enough to get Anders fully hard.

"Still yes?" Fenris asked.

Now the bastard was just teasing him.

"Still yes, _obviously_. Get on with it, elf."

Fenris gave him an amused half-smile before he licked his palm and wrapped his hand around Anders, steady and firm. Anders' hips bucked up without his permission and a low groan escaped his throat as he felt the lyrium pressed right against his sensitive skin. It felt better than it had any right to feel, much better than the touch of his own hand. Fenris gave him a slow stroke from root to tip, fingers tightening around him, and Anders cried out, already writhing on the grass.

"Someone will hear you," Fenris warned him.

Anders tried to form a snarky response, but Fenris's thumb moved in a perfect circle, and the only noise to come out of Anders' mouth was a shaky whine. He reached out for Fenris, but the elf shook his head and caught his wrist in an unrelenting grip.

"No. Hands to your sides."

"But—"

"No." Fenris shot him a warning look. "You will lie there, and you will take what I give you, or I will stop. Am I making myself clear?"

Anders swallowed. "Yes, Fenris," he said.

"Good boy," Fenris said and released his wrist.

Anders lowered his arm back to the ground and was rewarded by Fenris's hand starting to move again, up and down, his grip firm and confident. It would have felt amazing anyway, but the feel of the lyrium brands along Fenris's palm and fingers made his touch a thousand times better, even when they weren't aglow.

Fenris kept up his steady strokes, eyes focused on Anders', clearly aware of the effect he was having. Anders was soon gasping, his hips thrusting up on their own accord, greedy for it. The pleasure was building with each twist of Fenris's wrist, and Anders keened, high and sharp and helpless to stop it.

"Hush." Fenris's free hand covered Anders' mouth. "Be quiet, mage—if you do not want an audience."

Anders' eyes widened and he let out a helpless noise against Fenris's palm, turned on beyond what he'd thought possible. Fenris gave him a smug look that would have been infuriating in any other situation as the hand working him picked up pace.

Anders found himself glad that his moans were muffled as each stroke of Fenris's hand intensified the bliss. His hips jerked up, seeking for more, and Fenris obliged, his grip tightening, every pull of his hand now ending in a delicious twist, and Anders was close. He tried to say something, to warn Fenris, but the half-formed words turned into a helpless whine, stifled by the firm hand covering his mouth.

The elf glanced at him, a wicked little smile on his pretty lips, and then he brought his mouth down, those still-smiling lips closing around Anders right above his hand. His mouth was hot and wet and his tongue knew exactly where to touch, where to slide and press to drive a man mad.

Anders arched up, defenceless against the onslaught of pleasure, crying out into Fenris's palm as he fell apart under the elf's touch.


	5. In Which Slavers Try to Ruin Anders' Nice Morning

The first light of the sun had reached the tops of the nearby trees, painting them with orange and gold. Anders spent several long moments blinking up at them, listening to the sounds of Fenris washing his hands in the stream. The elf had tucked him back in his clothes, after, and Anders appreciated that. He would have felt rather foolish, lying there on his back, all on display.

Inside his head, Justice had fallen blessedly silent, and Anders felt boneless and satisfied and almost … almost happy?

Must have been the lyrium. It messed with his head, even now when Fenris hadn't activated it, but he supposed there were worse things than feeling unreasonably content.

Fenris's footsteps were quiet in the grass as the elf walked to him and stopped above him, a considering look in his eyes.

"Are you getting up, mage?"

"I'm still not sure I can walk."

Fenris snorted, and Anders hated him a little for how he made even that sound attractive.

"I shall not carry you." He nudged Anders on the side with his bare toes. "On your feet, now."

Anders made no move to get up. "How about your turn?"

"Another time," Fenris told him.

Anders wasn't sure why he was so disappointed; he had gotten what he wanted, after all.

"The others will be wondering where we are," Fenris continued. His toes poked at Anders' side again.

With a heavy sigh, Anders pushed himself to a sitting position. To his surprise, Fenris offered him a still-bare hand. Anders grabbed his staff and accepted the hand, cool from being washed in the stream, and Fenris pulled him to his feet with maddening ease, as if Anders weighed nothing at all.

It was possible that it took them both a moment longer than necessary to let go of each other's hand, but neither of them mentioned that. If no one else saw and they didn't talk about it, it didn't matter and had hardly even happened, Anders reasoned.

"You have a—" Fenris reached out and picked a strand of dead grass from Anders' hair.

For reasons Anders didn't understand, the gesture made his throat tighten. "Ah. Thanks." He glanced around so he didn't have to meet Fenris's eyes. "What did you do with my hair tie?"

Without a word, Fenris offered him the scrap of leather. Anders took it, and while Fenris focused on putting his gauntlets back on, Anders finger-combed his hair the best he could and tied it in place, hoping the results looked normal. The sense memory of Fenris's hands in his hair was still clear, and he wondered if Fenris would ever want to do this for him, comb his hair and tie it back.

He pushed the thought away. It was definitely the stupidest one he'd had that day, and it was barely morning.

"Shall we then?" he asked, gesturing towards the campsite.

Fenris nodded, and side by side, they began to make their way back. Around them, the light was growing brighter, more birds chirping in the few trees and hidden in the grass.

They hadn't gotten far from the stream before they spotted a group of six armed men walking towards them.

"Well there are the slavers," Anders said and stopped. He found himself annoyed that what could have been a pleasant, if a little tense, walk back to the camp was so rudely interrupted.

Fenris stopped beside him, eyes regarding the men with cold disdain. His hand was already reaching for his massive sword.

"Got a plan?" Anders asked. He could feel his heartbeat quickening in his chest and Justice shifting, the spirit's rising anger like heat pouring into his bloodstream.

The slavers had drawn their weapons too, confident in their superior numbers. Idiots.

"Surrender, you two," one of them called, brandishing his sword in a manner that he must have thought to be threatening. "No need to make this ugly."

Neither Anders nor Fenris bothered to respond to him.

"Do not die," Fenris answered Anders instead.

Anders tightened his hold of his staff and widened his stance. Fenris's breathing had acquired deliberate steadiness, his eyes never leaving the approaching men as he held his sword in both hands. He didn't look particularly worried about the upcoming fight. Rather, Anders thought, he looked as if he _wanted_ to make things ugly.

Anders couldn't blame him. Ugly was exactly what these men deserved.

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" the slaver continued, annoyance clear in his voice. "I said—"

Fenris muttered something definitely not polite under his breath and raised his sword. Light reflected from the sharp edge in a blinding flash as he turned it in his hands, and the first two men were dead before they had a chance to strike, the heavy blade cutting through their leather armour as if it were nothing but linen.

Before the two had even hit the ground, Anders took care of the third attacker with a lightning placed right between his eyes. The mand stumbled backwards and almost tripped one of his remaining companions as he went down.

"Bloody _mage_!" someone yelled.

One of the last three was a little more competent than the others and was able to block Fenris's fist strike, if only barely, and then Anders couldn't pay more attention to the elf, because the other two were coming after him. Magic glowing around him, he flung a fireball towards them, but the man he aimed it at managed to dodge, and before Anders had time for another one, he had to scramble away from a sword coming towards his head. He hadn't even gotten his balance back before the other man's sword almost slashed his belly open.

A hand caught him by the back of his collar, yanked him backwards, and another hand, covered in metal and bright-blue lyrium, shot past him and sank into the chest of the nearest slaver, the movement almost too fast to follow.

The man dropped his sword, and Anders stumbled to the side, but it wasn't enough to save him from the splatter of blood across his cheek and the side of his feathered coat as Fenris ripped the man's heart right out of his chest.

The last slaver froze, staring wide-eyed at his fallen companion, and Anders called familiar fire to his fingers.

There was something both satisfying and ghastly in the way the man crumbled as flames engulfed his head.

And it was over. Fenris and Anders were both stained with blood and breathing fast, but at least they were still breathing, unlike the slavers. Anders wiped the blood away from his face with his sleeve the best he could and took a deep breath, and then almost gagged as the scent of burning flesh and hair filled his lungs. Fenris glanced at him, one hand rising as if to touch him, before the elf paused and lowered the hand again.

"There may be others," Fenris said slowly and sheathed his sword. His eyes turned to scan the scenery, ignoring the corpses at their feet.

Anders nodded and stepped further away from the dead slavers. The bodies he'd set on fire were still smouldering. "We need to get back."

He wondered if he should have thanked Fenris for saving his life, but the elf didn't seem to expect any thanks, so instead, Anders began to walk towards the camp. Fenris fell in step with him.

"So," Anders said as they walked. "'Don't die,' huh?" He nudged Fenris on the side with an elbow. "Was that you being funny? Because as far as plans go, well, I have to say I've heard better."

"Yet you followed it," Fenris pointed out. "Barely, but you did."

Anders nudged him again, a little harder this time. The fight seemed to have wiped away the earlier tension between them, and he found himself feeling almost comfortable next to Fenris. "Very funny."

Fenris nudged him back, and something in Anders' chest clenched. After years of useless hate and vitriol, he felt he could get used to this kind of friendly banter between them.

He hoped they could try it in a situation where they both weren't covered with blood and wary of being attacked again.

They heard the shouts and the clatter of metal against metal before they could see their campsite through the trees. Glancing at each other, they hurried forward, but before they reached the clearing, Fenris stopped Anders with a firm hand around his wrist. The elf gave him a stern look.

"Stay back this time."

Anders glared at him. "I can hold my own in battle, elf. One close call doesn't mean I'm going to fall victim to the next sword raised against me."

The smile Fenris offered him was almost warm. "I know. But spare your magic; the others may need your talents once we're done. There are many of these … men." The hand around his wrist tightened. "If you have to fight, be sure to have enough magic left afterwards."

Anders sighed, but Fenris had a point; he was a healer, and as such, his first responsibility was always healing. "Fine." He met Fenris's eyes. "Don't die."

The elf's smile turned feral as he let go of Anders' wrist and drew his sword. "I would not give you the satisfaction."

The words were barely out of his mouth before four men rushed towards them, away from the battle ahead. It was immediately clear they were running away, desperate and dangerous.

Fenris had no mercy. The elf's sword sliced through the first two one by one as if it was nothing, blood splattering everywhere. The other two seemed to realise they couldn't get past the elf without a fight, and attacked Fenris at the same time, one from each side.

There was no way Fenris could have blocked both of their swords at once, and Anders went cold. _I just told yo_ _u not to die!_

He did the only thing he could think of: he hit the man closer to him on the head with his staff, the blow backed by both his and Justice's strength.

The man fell like a tree.

Without a pause, Fenris parred the other man's strike, and then the elf's hand, glowing blue with lyrium again, sank right through the man's face. The man made a garbled sound and stumbled backwards, dead before he hit the ground, leaving Fenris standing there with his raised hand smeared with blood and bits of what Anders preferred not to identify.

With a quick glance at Anders and a nod that passed for thanks, Fenris stepped over the bodies and jogged towards their campsite and another battle, sword in hand.

Anders followed after him, eyes open for possible enemies, still queasy after witnessing Fenris's phasing trick. It looked as disturbing every time, no matter how often he saw it, and it turned out a hand through a face wasn't any better than a hand through a chest.

And if the queasiness had something, even little, to do with the brief moment he'd thought he'd lose Fenris, well, there was no reason to dwell on that, other than to appreciate the irony of the elf telling him to stay back only to have Anders saving him moments later.

Fenris would've probably been fine anyway; he was preternaturally strong and fast and would have made it out of the situation alive and mostly unharmed even if Anders hadn't been there.

He would survive the next battle too, and after, he would be all right, and just as broody and pretty and annoying as he had always been. Anders didn't need to worry. Really, Anders wasn't worrying at all.

Justice was close to surface, vibrating right under his skin, ready to fight and defend if needed, but when Anders reached the battleground, his companions had already taken care of most of the slavers. Anders obeyed Fenris and stayed on the side-lines, though he did throw several very satisfying fireballs when he deemed it necessary. He was too proud to leave all the fighting for others when he could do something, though he kept constant eye on his companions too, ready to heal them if any injury seemed too serious.

He caught a sight of Fenris blocking a blow with the side of his gauntlet, metal screeching against metal as the blade skittered away, and flinched at the thought of what that had to do to Fenris's wrist. The elf didn't seem to care much, though. He was death on two bare feet; nothing human moved the way he did, fast and deadly like a snake.

Fenris would be all right, Anders reminded himself and forced his attention elsewhere. Not that there was much to see anymore; the slavers' numbers were dwindling quickly, and Anders had only chance for a few more quick spells before the fight was over. Isabela finished the last slaver with a precise cut across the man's throat, and that was it.

Justice receded, and after a moment, Anders allowed himself to relax too.

The five of them were standing on different sides of their campsite, lit by the morning sun and now littered with corpses. Anders breathed out a sigh of relief when it was clear they were all alive and in no immediate danger of dying from any injuries.


	6. In Which Anders Is a Very Good Healer

"Where were you two?" Hawke called as he sheathed his sword. "We could have used some help."

"Had a run-in with another bunch of these bastards," Anders answered as he made his way past the corpses towards Hawke. Now that he had the time to look, he could see how haggard the dead men looked, how old and worn their weapons were. "And handled them just fine without _your_ help, by the way."

Only then Hawke seemed to notice the amount of blood on Anders. "That's not yours, is it?" he asked as a worried look appeared in his eyes.

Anders snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "No. Our elf likes to make a mess."

Hawke's face relaxed. "Ah. Got a bit too close to the good old fisting trick, then?"

"You could say that," Anders agreed.

His eyes were taking inventory of his companions' injuries even as he spoke. Aside from small, insignificant wounds, Varric seemed unharmed as far as Anders could tell, but Hawke had a deep cut across his cheek, bleeding into his beard, the wrist Fenris had used to block the blow from the slaver's sword definitely needed a closer look, and Isabela was limping slightly as she walked towards them, a long gash on her thigh bleeding over and into her boot.

Anders deemed her injury the most pressing. "Want me to take care of that?" he asked her, gesturing towards the wound.

Isabela stopped in front of him, wagging her finger. "You just want an excuse to feel me up, don't you?" she teased.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Does someone as charming as me need an excuse?" He reached out with a hand already glowing blue with magic; she was brave and could handle much worse, but there was no point in keeping her in pain simply because she could bear it. "It'll only take a moment."

Isabela spread her arms. "Be my guest."

Anders laid his hand on the wound, and under his fingers, the skin stitched itself back together and the flow of blood waned.

When Anders pulled his hand back, Isabela gave a critical look to her blood-smeared thigh. "Good work, as always." She offered him a quick smile. "Thanks."

Anders smiled back. "My pleasure."

Her smile turned lopsided. "I bet it was, sweet thing. Why else would you have bothered to come that close to heal me?"

Anders gave her a jaunty wink before he turned towards Hawke. "Let's fix that face next."

"It's a scratch." Hawke wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. It didn't help, as more welled up immediately. "It'll hardly even scar."

"It'll scar even less if you let me take care of it," Anders told him, taking a few steps closer. "Look, there's no need to make your ugly mug any worse than it already is."

Hawke guffawed. "Not all of us can be as pretty as our favourite healer."

"Yes, but since I am the prettiest already, I have no need to see the rest of you getting any uglier."

"Fine, I can't resist having your hands on me."

Anders snorted and cupped Hawke's cheek. Magic bloomed under his fingers, and soon, there was hardly a mark left of the wound.

"There," he said. "As good as new."

"Of course it is," Hawke said. He clapped Anders on the shoulder. "What would we do without our healer?"

"Die," Anders answered. "The answer is, you would die. Horribly, I have no doubt."

"True enough," Hawke agreed.

Anders smiled at him and turned back towards the others to find Fenris standing only a few feet away, scowling at him. The elf had a splatter of blood across his cheek, and it did good job emphasising the angry lines of his face.

"What?" Anders asked.

Against all logic, the scowl got even worse. "Nothing. Go away, mage."

Anders rolled his eyes. He chose not to point out that Fenris could have stayed away from him in the first place if he did not want Anders nearby. "Your face is going to be stuck that way, you know."

Varric snorted. "I think it's a little too late to warn Broody of that!"

Fenris turned his scowl towards the dwarf. Anders rolled his eyes again, with more feeling this time. "I'd like to see your wrist," he said before the bickering could get completely out of hand.

The scowl returned to him. "No."

"I saw you getting hurt, so take off the gauntlet and let me see."

Eyes narrowing, Fenris hid his hand behind his back. "I am fine."

"You're _not_. You're in pain and too bloody proud to admit it, and it seems to be making you even grumpier than usually. You've let me fix you up before so don't get all difficult on me now."

"I'm not grumpy, and I don't need your help."

 _Stubborn bugger_. Anders wondered if he could sprain an eyeball by rolling them too much. If it were possible, the hot-and-cold running idiot of an elf would be the one to blame.

"Listen, you moron," Anders said, his voice stern as he reached out and caught Fenris's arm, pulling it forward so that he could have the damaged wrist between his hands. "If you don't take the blighted gauntlet off and let me take a look, your wrist is going to swell, and then all those nasty sharp edges of metal are going to dig into your skin, and that's when it's _really_ going to hurt."

Fenris yanked his hand free from Anders's grip, glaring at him. "Do not speak to me as if I were a _child_."

"Then stop acting like a child. You're not bleeding, and hey, that's great, that's _brilliant_ , but you're hurt. I can fix that. So let me." Anders met Fenris's eyes with all the sincerity he could muster. "Please."

Slowly, hesitantly, Fenris nodded. Anders gave him a bright smile. "That's my good boy."

The look Fenris sent him at that was nothing short of murderous, but Anders ignored it. Since the elf was still doing nothing to remove the gauntlet, Anders reached for the small clasps himself, undoing them carefully. Fenris hissed through gritted teeth as the metal released and Anders pulled the gauntlet off.

"Shh, shh," Anders soothed. "Let me take the pain away."

Fenris's wrist was already swelling, the bloom of blood clear through the skin where the blade had jammed the gauntlet against delicate bones. Anders trailed his fingers across the damage and then called forth his magic.

Fenris gasped, his tattoos flaring up, and that had Anders gasping in turn, the pleasant burn of the lyrium sinking into his hand where his skin touched tattooed skin. For a horrifying moment, he thought his magic would go wild and spark up a storm around them.

With effort, he got it under control, and even then, as he focused the healing energy on the damaged area, he had to struggle to keep it from running through Fenris's entire body. The elf's lyrium was doing the same terrible, fantastic things to his own body it had done from the first moment they'd touched, and a large part of him, along with Justice, would have liked nothing more than to press against Fenris to feel it better, closer.

Nothing like this had happened before when he'd healed Fenris; it seemed that sleeping together had some unforeseen side effects.

By the time Anders was done and Fenris's wrist was healed enough, they were both breathing hard and shivering, and Anders was half-hard in his robes. He swallowed and watched Fenris's throat move as the elf did the same.

"Don't put any strain on that for a bit," Anders said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. "I don't want you undoing my excellent work, elf."

Fenris pulled his hand away, and the lyrium dimmed back to its usual whiteness. "Thank you," he said stiffly.

His pupils were wide, and Anders would have sworn there was a hint of flush on his cheeks. If they had been alone, Anders would have ended up on his back in a heartbeat, he had no doubt about that.

It seemed that healing the elf in public was not such a hot idea anymore.

Brilliant.

"Good work, you two," Varric said. "If there are more slavers anywhere nearby, your delightful little fireworks show is sure to lead them right to us."

"It's not my fault I have to deal with this bloody bucket of lyrium!" Anders protested.

Fenris narrowed his eyes and snatched his gauntlet back from Anders. " _You_ insisted on healing me. As if you didn't know—"

"How was I supposed to realise—" Anders cut himself off and glared back at Fenris. "This is _not_ my fault, elf!"

Isabela had been watching them with an amused look on her face. Now she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh kiss already, you two. We're waiting."

"I do not like what you are implying," Fenris snarled, half turning towards her.

"Aw," Anders said. "You wound me, Fenris! Doesn't your favourite apostate deserve a thank-you kiss?"

The icy look Fenris levelled at him before marching away could have frozen the blood in a weaker man's veins.

"Is it just me," Hawke started, "or is he particularly broody today?"

Anders shrugged. He was beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on returning Fenris's earlier favour; maybe that would have left the elf on a better mood.

Of course, then the slavers would have probably caught them going at it, but that alone could have been enough to scare them away and make them reconsider the life choices that had led them there.

They spend a while collecting their belongings, though the others had managed to pack their tents away before the attack.

"They must have a camp somewhere here," Isabela said as she tightened the straps of her pack.

Hawke nodded. "We need to find it. We don't know if they've caught anyone."

Fenris was looking around. His eyes seemed very cold. "I doubt they have had much success. These are desperate men." He kicked one of the bodies, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Rusty weapons and mismatched armour. Scum, even by slaver standards."

"There were a lot of them, though," Varric pointed out. "Their sheer numbers might have given them some sort of an advantage."

"True enough." Hawke gestured the others to follow. "Let's go, I want to find them before nightfall so we can start making our way back home tomorrow."

As they walked, Hawke in the lead, Anders found himself yet again throwing glances towards Fenris. The elf kept his distance, and Anders told himself that was fine; he didn't need Fenris close by for any reason. Clearly, he'd been too optimistic about the chances of being friendly with each other; Fenris wanted him, yes, but also hated him, and that was the reality Anders had to live with.

It was fine. Just fine, he thought, and kept walking.

They found the camp of the slavers late that evening. There were only two men keeping guard, neither of them particularly good at their job, and it was easy for Varric to take them both out with his trusty crossbow before they even noticed they weren't alone.

To their relief, the camp held no prisoners, and after ensuring that, it didn't take their group long to go through the campsite. There wasn't much of value to be found; Fenris had been right to call these men desperate, and they hadn't been very skilled at what they were doing either.

Anders would have felt sorry for them if they'd tried to improve their fortunes by any other way than attempting to catch people to enslave.

None of them wanted to sleep anywhere near the slavers' campsite, so it was close to midnight before they finally stopped and crawled into their tents to rest.

Anders ended up sharing his tent with Fenris, but after the long day they'd had, they were too tired even to throw insults at each other. Fenris simply curled on his bedroll, his back to Anders, and seemed to fall asleep almost right away.

Anders bundled his coat into a makeshift pillow and lay down on his own bedroll. It was cold in the tent, but Fenris didn't look as if he would have welcomed Anders crawling to him and pressing against him to share his warmth. With a deep sigh, Anders wrapped his thin blanked around himself the best he could.

He drifted off watching the slow rise and fall of Fenris's chest.

They returned to Kirkwall without an incident, and Anders spent the following day healing patients and washing his clothes. The clothes seemed to take almost as much work as the patients; the blood was everywhere, even in places that should have not, by any rights, gotten splattered by it.

That was all Fenris's fault, of course. Why did the elf have to insist on such a messy way to kill people? He could think whatever he wanted of magic, but at least it didn't usually leave bloodstains everywhere.

Warden stamina or not, Anders was so exhausted that when the evening came, he fell asleep at his desk, only to wake up with his neck sore and a puddle of drool on the empty paper under his cheek. He staggered to his feet and somehow made it to the bed, falling asleep on top of the covers, still fully clothed.

The next morning, he woke up with his clothes hopelessly wrinkled but feeling much more rested, and set back to work with renewed energy. He was happy to be busy, and hardly even thought of Fenris during the day, except to acknowledge that that was exactly as it should be.

Evening was slowly approaching, the last patients of the day gone, and Anders was alone with Justice again when he found himself picking up his staff and trailing a hand along it. There was a faint dent near the middle, so shallow and unremarkable that a casual observer would have hardly noticed it at all.

Anders noticed it, acutely aware that it was the result of hitting a man on the head with enough force to break his skull. It was a wonder he hadn't broken the staff too.

He ran his fingers over the dent, almost amused that he had resorted to using the staff as a club when he had his magic. Magic was always his first reaction, as natural as breathing, and it would have been far more effective and precise, yet there he had been, bludgeoning a man to death like some barbarian.

He'd panicked, a little, when he'd thought he'd lose Fenris, he admitted to himself. Even Justice couldn't judge him for it.

He was not sure why he cared so very much. The elf was more than pleasant company in his bed, and the touch of his lyrium was brilliant enough that just thinking of it had Anders distracted, but he was such a bastard. Within the past few days, Anders had gotten a glimpse or two of how friendship could be between them too, but most of those glimpses had been fleeting. Fenris was a master of mood swings, and whatever sort of relationship they were supposed to have, it was definitely one of the most confusing Anders had ever experienced.

In many ways, his life would be easier without the blighted elf. At least then, the only ones threatening him for being who he was would be the templars, not someone he had to spend time with on regular basis—someone he'd shared his bed with.

With a sigh, Anders slid his fingers over the dent again.

Living things, even those as steely and dangerous as Fenris, had their weak spots. Anders had killed a man with one blow to the head; one day, a sword would cut through Fenris's flesh and bone and end his life as easily as snuffing out a candle. Fenris could take care of himself better than most others Anders had ever known and had survived plenty of battles, but somewhere out there in the world was a blade with the elf's name written on it, waiting.

The thought made Anders shiver.

He shook his head hard and rested the staff against the edge of his desk. There was no point in brooding over such things, and he could as well get up and go out. After spending a few days on the road, the others had to miss the chance to rob him of the little coin he had in a game of cards. He shouldn't let them down.

It would be wise to check up on Fenris too, he thought. Wrists were delicate things, with all those small, fragile bones and important tendons. It was his responsibility, as a healer, to see Fenris's was fine. Anders was good at what he did, took pride in his work, and he wouldn't let one badly healed wrist ruin his reputation, even if his feelings towards the owner of said wrist where more than a little mixed.

It was early enough that Fenris was most likely still home. There was a chance that he would deem to join the others at the Hanged Man later, but with Fenris, that was never certain. If Anders wanted to be sure he got a look at the elf's wrist, it was best to visit the mansion first, he reasoned.

With his mind made up, Anders headed out.

He couldn't explain the fluttery feeling in his belly as he knocked at Fenris's door. He was going to check the elf's blighted wrist before heading to the Hanged Man; there was no reason why that should make him feel weird. He was a healer doing his job and seeing that his patient was fine and there was nothing out of the ordinary about that.

If said patient was on a good mood, they could, of course, end up walking to the Hanged Man together, but that wasn't a reason to get all fluttery either. Neither was—maybe, possibly—being able to take Fenris home later that night.

The door opened, and Anders almost jumped, startled out of his musings.

"Mage," Fenris said, in a way of greeting. His tone was impassive, and nothing on his face suggested he was pleased to see Anders.

"Elf," Anders answered the same way.

There was a short silence as they looked at each other, and then Fenris opened the door fully to allow Anders in. The look he was giving Anders wasn't exactly welcoming, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"What do you want?"

Anders shrugged as Fenris closed the door behind his back. "I was just passing by." It sounded like the lie it was, but Fenris's expression didn't change. "Thought I'd like to take a look at your wrist."

"My wrist is fine."

"I'm sure it is, but I'd still like to take a look, all right?" Anders reached out for Fenris's hand. "Doing my work properly is a matter of honour, even when it comes to you. Please, Fenris."

Fenris twitched but after a short hesitation, reached for the fastenings of his gauntlet. As Anders watched, he removed the metal and then offered his bare hand to Anders. Anders took the narrow wrist between his hands, already aware that he would not find any damage.

"Flex your fingers for me," he said anyway.

Fenris did, and Anders felt the movement under his fingertips, easy and smooth, no sign of pain he could detect anywhere.

He called magic to his hands, and Fenris shuddered and hissed like a threatened cat, almost yanking his wrist free from Anders' grip as the lyrium lines curving over his palm and along his fingers flared.

"Sorry," Anders said quickly and allowed his magic to dissipate, "sorry. Should've warned you."

Maker, he was lucky Fenris hadn't punched him for that.

"Get on with it," Fenris snapped. "I don't have all night."

"All right. There's going to be magic now," Anders said, and this time Fenris only twitched when the magic bloomed.

Anders ran his thumbs from the centre of Fenris's glowing lyrium-covered palm to his wrist, applying steady pressure. The tendons were shifting under his touch every time Fenris's fingers moved, and the pulse he found when pressing his thumb over the artery was strong and steady, if a little fast. He could hear Fenris's breathing, heavier than it had been a moment ago.

The softness of Fenris's skin was a distraction, and Anders didn't think much about sliding his fingers towards the crook of the elbow, then back up again, the faint glow of his magic igniting Fenris's tattoos on its path. The heat of the lyrium sank into his flesh, and he wanted more.

"Mage," Fenris said. His voice was low and a little rough.

Anders looked up to meet those green eyes. Fenris's pupils were dark and wide, eclipsing most of the iris.

"Oh. Right." Anders let go of Fenris's arm, the blue light of his magic fading. The glow of Fenris's lyrium vanished along with it, and Anders felt cold. "You're fine. Your wrist is fine, no damage at all. A wonder, really, considering how you keep waving that stupid-huge sword around. But I'm sure we can consider that a sign of my superior healing abilities—"

"Mage." Fenris cupped his cheek with his still-bare hand, and Anders fell silent. "I would like to have you now."

Anders would have never admitted, not even to himself, that he had been half-expecting, half-hoping that. "Well that came out of nowhere," he said, in what he feared was a vain attempt to hide how much he wanted to fall to his knees right there. "I—"

Fenris silenced him with a hard, demanding kiss, and Anders decided he was happy to leave losing his money to another night.


	7. In Which Fenris Takes Control, and Anders Finds the Morning After Awkward, but Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with [amazing fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22907476) by [DragonDracarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDracarys/pseuds/DragonDracarys), very NSFW.

Anders felt as if he were dealing with two different elves in one disturbingly attractive body. One of them wanted to punch him, and the other just wanted him and was currently pinning him to a bed and kissing him senseless.

Fenris's bedroom was chilly enough that Anders' bare skin was covered in gooseflesh, but the elf himself was warm, and it didn't take long before the touch of his hands had sent warmth spreading though Anders' body too. He relaxed into the sheets and pulled Fenris closer, wishing he could spend more time with this kinder version of Fenris.

The elf didn't seem to be in any hurry to actually have Anders, despite his earlier words. They kept kissing, Fenris's mouth honey-sweet on Anders', one of his hands tangled in Anders' hair to keep him still.

As if Anders had any desire to get away when he had those lips pressed to his own.

The elf's other hand kept stroking Anders' side, up and down in time with his breathing. Anders' own hands were busy following the lines of lyrium on Fenris's back, memorising their pattern by touch until he was certain he could replicate them in perfect detail with ink on paper.

Fenris's mouth moved to his cheek, lips brushing over his stubble, and then there was a sharp hint of teeth as Fenris reached his jaw. Anders shivered. The hand in his hair tightened, forcing his head back, and more sucking kisses travelled down his neck and to his collarbone, where Fenris paused, and sank his teeth in.

Anders keened as the sharp, sweet pain laced through him, his hands coming to cradle the elf's head. Fenris licked over the marks his teeth must have left, the slick touch of his tongue aggravating the pain, and Anders was breathless with need.

"Kiss me," he managed to demand, dragging the elf's head up by the hair.

Fenris did, sealing his mouth on Anders', the kiss so fierce that it wiped Anders' mind clean of thought. All he could do was to kiss back, clutch at Fenris and let himself be overwhelmed.

They were both panting and Fenris was blazing blue with lyrium when the elf broke the kiss with another on Anders' chin, breathing hot air against his skin. Their bodies were pressed tight together, and Fenris was gloriously hard against Anders.

With a glowing hand, the elf cupped Anders' cheek, and suddenly all Anders could see was that same hand sinking through the slaver's face only a few days before. He caught Fenris's wrist and yanked the hand away from his skin, the lyrium tingling against his palm.

"Stop." The word came out sharp and breathless.

Fenris pulled back. "What is it? Did I hurt you?" There was what looked like genuine worry in his eyes.

"No." Anders swallowed thickly and didn't let go of Fenris's wrist. "Could you stop glowing for a moment?"

Fenris did. He looked at Anders with his brow furrowed. "What did I do? I had the impression you wanted this."

"I do," Anders said. "Just…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I saw you put that hand right through a man's _face_ and scramble the poor bastard's brain with your fingers." He opened his eyes again and met Fenris's green gaze. "That's not exactly sexy, you know."

"Ah."

Fenris seemed to consider that for a moment. He raised his hand, pulling Anders' up along with it, and gave it a thoughtful look, as if pondering over the many things it was capable of. It wasn't the most reassuring sight Anders had ever seen.

"I promised I would not do that to you," Fenris said after a while, and lowered his hand.

Anders shrugged. He felt stupid for getting caught up on that, but the image of a bloodied hand and a man dying with the look of absolute terror on his face was a little too clear in his head.

He wanted Fenris, but trusting the elf not to harm him was a different matter. Lust-addled by the lyrium as he may have been, he hadn't forgotten that Fenris was _dangerous_. Anders had his magic and Justice to defend him, but he wasn't sure how much good either of them could do against Fenris if the elf decided to hurt him when Anders wasn't prepared for a fight.

"You are safe in my bed. I would never cause you any pain here," Fenris assured him. "If you aren't comfortable and wish to stop, I will of course accept that, but I would like you to believe you are in no danger with me."

Anders did not want to stop. He wanted to continue, and he wanted to believe Fenris, but he was finding that more challenging than he'd previously thought. Fenris was unpredictable and could go from hate to lust in moments; nothing guaranteed that his desire wouldn't shift back to anger if Anders made one wrong move.

Which, he supposed, meant that he shouldn't make any wrong moves. He took another deep breath and returned Fenris's hand to his cheek. The elf's thumb began to stroke across his skin, and it felt good and familiar. Fenris didn't rush him, didn't make any demands, and slowly, the unpleasant image faded and Anders felt himself relaxing.

"It's fine," he said, finally.

"Are you certain?"

"I'm certain. Get on with it, elf."

"And what if I begin to 'glow' again? Will it frighten you now?"

Anders threw Fenris a sharp glare. "I'm not _scared_ of you. It's perfectly natural not to want someone's glowing, deadly fists inside your body, I'll have you know."

Fenris's mouth twitched. "Of course it is. I shall only ever put a few fingers in you, and never in a way that would cause you to suffer, you have my word."

Anders snorted. "Well how about you get on with it, then?"

"In a moment," Fenris told him and kissed him.

Anders had nothing against more kissing. Fenris did have a lovely mouth, and he knew how to use it.

The first kiss turned into several before Fenris's lips moved to Anders' neck. The elf's hand reached out to pick up a bottle of oil from the bedside table, and Anders wondered if he always kept it there, or if he'd been hopeful that Anders would come to his bed now when sleeping together was a thing they did.

Anders hoped it was the latter. He liked the thought of Fenris wanting him to come here.

He liked the thought of Fenris wanting him in any way because Maker, he was rather desperate for the elf and his lyrium himself.

Fenris pulled back a fraction. "Would you like to roll over for me?"

"Are you being particularly careful with me now?" Anders gave Fenris a narrow-eyed look. "I told you I'm not scared of you."

"Well then," Fenris said, caught him by the hips, and flipped him over without any further warning.

For a moment, all Anders could manage was undignified spluttering. Fenris leant over him, teeth grazing the back of his neck.

"Is this better?" Fenris asked. It was annoying how amused he sounded.

"Bastard," Anders said into the pillow.

Fenris hummed against his skin. "I can take control of you if that's what you would prefer." He gripped Anders' wrists and pinned them to the bedding on each side of his head. "I have no issue with that, mage. _At all_."

"I just bet you don't," Anders muttered.

Sharp teeth nipped his skin again. "Is that you agreeing?"

"If that's the quickest way to get your fingers in me, then yes."

"Well then," Fenris said again, and released his wrists. "Do not move."

His hands settled on Anders' shoulders and trailed over his back, fingers not shying away from the scars that marked him. The touch felt oddly like comfort, and that was not something Anders had expected from Fenris. He let his back curve up, push into Fenris's touch, and the hands tightened on him, pinning him down.

The ease with which Fenris flattened him to the mattress should have scared him, but he could feel the lyrium against his skin, and Fenris had _promised_ , he had given his word that he would not hurt Anders, and Anders couldn't find his fear. He let it happen.

Fenris's hands travelled down and stopped right above the swell of Anders' behind.

"Get on with it," Anders told him, when they didn't go any further.

"Impatient, are we?"

"Yes," Anders said. "Yes we are."

" _Good_ ," Fenris said.

The elf's hands left his skin, and to Anders' delight, he heard the pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle. Then cool, slick fingers were sliding exactly where Anders wanted them, and he pushed his hips back, eager to accept them.

Gently, Fenris worked two fingers into him, and Anders buried his face into the pillow, his breathing already picking up.

"I like doing this to you," Fenris said, his tone thoughtful, and gave Anders a gentle thrust that had him shivering. "I like the way you like it."

He pushed his fingers all the way in and twisted them, and Anders squirmed. He definitely liked it, especially when the one doing it to him was as good at is as Fenris was.

"More," he demanded.

Fenris gave him more, those lovely fingers driving into him deep and hard. They filled him the way he wanted, needed, found the right spot with unfair ease and stroked it until Anders could do nothing but to pant and writhe and moan his delight into the pillow.

Fenris didn't let up, his fingers working Anders, leaving him shaky with the bliss of it as he rubbed his hips against the mattress to relieve his building need. He was close already, and he wasn't sure if he was more shocked or delighted by the realisation that he could come like this if Fenris kept fingering him.

That was, of course, when the fingers slipped out of him, leaving him empty and aching. Anders groaned, turning to look at Fenris over his shoulder. "Maker, don't _stop_."

Fenris pressed a kiss on his lower back. "I told you I wish to have you."

"Oh." Anders turned his face back into the pillow. "Well hurry up then!"

With a hum of agreement, Fenris caught his hips and pulled him up to his knees while his chest was still pressed to the sheets. The elf's hands gripped Anders's wrists and pinned them to the bedding again, and Anders was acutely aware of how helpless he was in such a submissive position. He had no doubt _this_ , at least, should have scared him, but all he could feel was the deep heat of arousal and his desperate need for more. Even if Fenris hadn't promised not to hurt him, Anders would have stayed where he was, overwhelmed by his desire for the elf—for the lyrium.

He was mad, he acknowledged, but at that moment, he couldn't give a damn, and Justice didn't seem inclined to chastise him for it either.

Fenris draped himself over Anders' back, all heat and hard muscle against Anders' skin. It wasn't fair how good that felt, how much he wanted to stay trapped like this forever, held in place by Fenris until the time itself ended.

Fenris's hips shifted, and the tip of his hardness slid over where Anders was slick and open and more than ready. Anders whimpered with disappointment when it didn't push in.

"You truly are not very patient," Fenris said.

Anders huffed. "You're not supposed to be either!"

Fenris actually laughed at that, and Anders could feel the vibrations of it travelling though his body.

"Come on, elf," he said.

With an agreeing hum, Fenris freed one of Anders's wrists and worked a hand between their bodies. Anders held his breath, waiting, tense with anticipation, and then Fenris guided himself in.

The slow, deep push into his body drove the air out of his lungs, and he shuddered, hands clenching on the sheets. Fenris was much thicker than his fingers, forcing Anders open so wide it almost hurt, and it seemed to take forever before the elf bottomed out inside him.

"Oh," Fenris sighed. "You are…"

Anders never found out what he was. He shifted his hips, pushing back against the elf the best he could, and Fenris let out a shivery moan. He pulled out of Anders almost all the way before filling him again, slow and easy, as if testing Anders' limits.

Anders was almost certain he had no limits; all he wanted was more.

"Harder," he demanded when the next roll of Fenris's hips was equally slow.

"No."

Fenris gripped his waist with both hands, pulling Anders' body back into his deliberate thrusts. He seemed happy to keep taking Anders like that, unhurried and _not nearly enough_. Anders tried to push back to get more, faster, harder, anything, but Fenris's hands on him tightened, rendering any attempt to move useless. Why did the elf have to be so bloody strong?

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" Anders' voice was hoarse.

Fenris kissed his back. "Maybe a little." Another kiss. "I told you I have no problem taking control of you."

"Not fair."

"Fair," Fenris told him. "You know not what you do to _me_ , mage."

Despite his growing need, Anders couldn't help smiling at that. "Do tell."

"Another time."

Anders didn't argue. He needed this too much, his body burning, aching with it. "Then give it to me!"

Finally, Fenris did. The steady thrusts of his hips were getting harder, and Anders had no words for how good it felt. The throbbing heat inside him was driving him out of his mind, pushing him higher than he'd ever thought possible. He was close again already, one gentle touch away from his completion, and he reached between his legs.

"No." Fenris caught Anders' wrist and twisted it behind his back. "You will not touch yourself. You will not come before I am done with you."

Anders couldn't help the whine that escaped him, and Fenris laughed, low and teasing. Anders buried his face into the pillow and tried to keep breathing. He was writhing, desperate for it, and he had no idea how much longer Fenris could last.

"Fenris…" The name was nothing but a shaky plea.

"Be— _ah_ —be patient." There was breathy quality to Fenris's voice now, and the grip of his hands was getting tighter.

Anders had no interest in patience. He shoved his hips back the best he could despite being pinned the way he was, taking Fenris deeper, clenching purposefully around him. If Fenris was determinate to come before Anders, Anders would make sure he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Fenris groaned softly, resting his forehead on Anders' back. His trusts were growing shorter, harder, and he had to be close. Anders clenched around him again, doing his best to drive the elf mad, and with a low moan, Fenris buried himself in all the way, his body tense against Anders'. His breathing puffed heavy and hot over Anders' back as he filled Anders with slick heat, his hands shaking.

After a short, silent moment while neither of them moved, Fenris sighed, sounding content, and pulled out. Anders was quivering with need, empty and cold without Fenris in him, on top of him.

The elf gripped him by the hips, and Anders whimpered as he was flipped onto his back with ease that should have annoyed him a lot more. Fenris settled between his thighs and looked at him, unmoving, eyes focused on his, and Anders was so hard it hurt. His entire body burned with desire, hands yearning to reach down and touch himself, but it was clear Fenris wouldn't let him now.

Finally, when Anders was moments away from taking himself in hand, the consequences be damned, Fenris moved again. His hands caught Anders' hips and pinned him down with such force that Anders knew that if he struggled, the slender fingers would leave him bruised. The elf's eyes were still focused on Anders' and he was smiling that wicked smile full of promise, and then he lowered his head and took Anders in his mouth.

The noise Anders made was sharp and high-pitched and completely beyond his control. Fenris's mouth was hot and wet, and the elf didn't start slow; he took Anders in all the way, lips tight around him, and sucked. Anders wanted to grip Fenris's hair and pull, but he didn't dare, instead clutching at the sheets with unsteady fingers. He was trembling all over, his skin hot and prickling.

Fenris's tongue was everywhere, licking along his length and twirling around the sensitive head with proficiency Anders had rarely encountered. One of the elf's hands left his hip and slid between his legs, and Anders spread his thighs wider so that there would be no doubt about how much he approved this course of events.

Two fingers pushed into his still-slick body with ease, thrusting, rubbing, curling against the right spot again and again. That alone brought Anders to the edge, and then, without a warning, Fenris lit his tattoos, the glorious heat of them spreading deep inside Anders, and Anders was _howling_ , head thrown back and hands clenched into the sheets as he spilled himself down Fenris's throat.

The following moments were a little fuzzy. Anders could hear Fenris moving about and feel the mattress dipping as the elf got out of the bed and then back in, but it all seemed distant. He was floating in a haze of pleasure, calm and satisfied and yes, definitely happy now.

Eventually, Fenris settled back beside him and pulled him close so that Anders' head was tucked under Fenris's chin and the elf's arms were around him, the covers drawn over them. Anders was warm and comfortable and still lost in the afterglow, the rest of the world far away and meaningless. Justice was equally relaxed, distracted by the lyrium pressed against Anders' skin. Anders would have been content to stay here for days.

Reality edged closer despite Anders' best efforts to keep it away. Someone yelled on the street below, and Fenris twitched, though he didn't let go of Anders.

Anders had a feeling he was supposed to get up and leave at some point; Fenris had stayed in his bed once, sure, but that didn't mean Anders had the permission to stay in the elf's bed this time. Fenris liked his privacy, and maybe Anders was invading it. _I don't have all night_ , Fenris had said. Leaving would be a lot easier before he got too comfortable and fell asleep, but Maker, he the last thing he wanted was to move.

The uncertainty was making him nervous. He wondered if there was a way to ask whether Fenris wanted him to stay or not that wouldn't lead to the elf immediately realising Anders had outstayed his welcome and kicking him out.

There probably wasn't, so Anders settled for being as still and unimposing as he could in hopes that Fenris would allow him to stay. If Anders didn't move at all, maybe Fenris would fall asleep before he had the chance to tell Anders to get up and go home.

The elf's fingers were moving against his back, tracing along the curve of Anders's ribs below his shoulder blade.

"If you're looking for my heart, your hand is exactly in the right place," Anders said before his brain caught up with his nervous, babbling mouth. "You know, if you're planning to rip it out of my chest."

The fingers stilled.

So much for not making any wrong moves.

"Er," Anders said. That was definitely going to get him kicked out. Why, oh why had he not stayed still and silent like he'd told himself to do? "That was a joke. A terrible one. Sorry. You're not going to put your hands inside me, you promised, I remember that."

Fenris was quiet for a moment. "I know perfectly well where your heart is," the elf told him, flattening his palm against Anders's back. "I do not intend to harm it."

Anders wasn't sure what to make of that. "Okay," he said slowly. "All right."

"Idiot." The fingers started moving again. "Go to sleep. At least that shall keep you quiet."

Anders snorted but settled comfortably against Fenris and closed his eyes. Apparently, he was meant to stay then, even if he said stupid things.

Fenris's hand kept stroking his back, and Anders relaxed and allowed himself to drift off.

It was a surprise to wake up and find Fenris still in bed with him. Well, not as much 'in bed with' as 'mostly on top of', but Anders didn't mind. His left arm was going numb under the elf's weight, and he would have liked to stretch a bit, but Fenris was very warm and solid against him, and Anders didn't want him to wake up and get out of the bed. It was still early, the sky dark behind the window, and Anders was in no hurry to return to the clinic yet.

He let his mind wander, unwilling to think of anything important or serious for a while. Justice allowed it, comfortable in Fenris's embrace and appeased by the lyrium. Anders rather liked it.

Without a conscious thought, Anders' fingers ended up in Fenris's hair and tangled in the pale strands. The elf made a drowsy noise and lifted his head, blinking. As Anders watched, his eyes went from sleepy to fully alert within a few heartbeats.

"Ah. So you are still here," Fenris said. His voice was low and sleep-rough in a way that Anders found himself liking.

"I, er, kind of couldn't get up. With you on top of me and all." He tried to figure out if Fenris was annoyed, or if the comment had been nothing more than an idle observation, but the elf's face gave nothing away. "You're a lot heavier than you look," he added, hoping it would work in his defence.

Fenris regarded him for a while, eyes travelling over his face and to his chest and then back up. Anders was getting nervous. He wished he knew which version of Fenris he was dealing with, the one who sort of almost seemed to like him, or the angry, snarly one.

"If you got off me—" he started.

"You are surprisingly comfortable for someone so bony." Fenris settled back against him, head on his chest.

"Okay," Anders said. No angry elf yet, it seemed.

With care, he wrapped an arm around Fenris's waist, delighted when Fenris allowed it to stay. It was strange, this closeness, when it wasn't a prelude to sinful delights, but Anders liked it. The sex was great, of course, amazing really, and Anders wouldn't have given up a single moment of it, but he had always liked simple affection too. He'd been through a lot of pain; it seemed only fair that he could have a few moments of peace to make up for it.

They lay there together for a long while, Anders petting Fenris's hair and back, Fenris pressing occasional kisses on Anders' chest, until Anders' stomach ruined it by growling. Loudly.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Fenris's huff sounded almost amused. "It seems I need to feed you, mage," he said, pushing himself off Anders and into a sitting position.

Anders waved a hand at him and hoped the blush he could creeping up his neck wasn't visible in the dim light. "It's fine. Forget it. I'll just go home, no need for you to—"

"Shut up," Fenris said mildly.

Anders shut up. Fenris gave him an approving look and got out of the bed, and Anders couldn't help but to follow him with his eyes. The lean strength of his lyrium-covered body was a sight Anders wasn't going to get tired anytime soon.

It was a shame the elf didn't seem to be planning to walk around naked. He picked up his clothes and armour and dressed, his movements precise and efficient, and thought Anders preferred to watch him undress, there was something appealing in this too.

Idly, he wondered if finding almost everything Fenris did attractive was a problem.

"You should get up," Fenris said. "I shall feed you, but I draw the line at bringing you breakfast in bed."

With a long-suffering sigh, Anders dragged himself up, the floor ice cold under his bare feet, and reached for his clothes.

Once he was dressed, he followed Fenris out of the room, and found him setting table for them. The elf looked calm, almost content, his customary scowl still waiting to make its appearance that morning. Anders allowed himself to stand there and watch, his eyes following every gesture. He liked the easy confidence Fenris moved with, and the way he seemed comfortable here, in a familiar environment.

Fenris looked up from what he was doing and nodded towards the table.

"Sit down," he said.

Anders did, and Fenris took a seat opposite of him and nudged a plate with a chunk of bread and cheese a fraction closer to him.

"Eat." It was an order, not a request, but Anders really was hungry and chose to overlook that for now. It was always wise not to argue with someone who was giving you free food. There was a high chance of not getting to eat if you weren't compliant, and Anders wasn't risking that.

Under Fenris's watchful eye, he buttered the bread and wolfed it down, along with the cheese. When he looked up from his empty plate, Fenris rolled a slightly wrinkled apple across the table, and Anders took care of it too. The elf himself didn't seem very interested in eating, only taking a few bites of his own bread as he watched Anders, face impassive.

Anders wasn't sure what he was supposed to do when he was done with his breakfast. He fidgeted with his plate a moment and then glanced at Fenris. The elf looked back at him and didn't offer any kind of clue of what would be appropriate now.

Feeling self-conscious, Anders got up. "Er. Thanks." He shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "That was…"

Fenris rose from his seat too, an eyebrow quirked as he waited for Anders to finish his sentence. Anders shrugged helplessly. He had no idea how he was meant to deal with Fenris … taking care of him? That was strange, and unexpected, and more than a little unnerving—he was far more used to the angry Fenris than this kind one.

Anders didn't need anyone to take care of him anyway. He was a grown man and more than capable of taking care of himself.

On the other hand, he did like it the same way he liked lying in bed with Fenris and petting the elf.

"I'll just…" he made an awkward gesture towards the door and turned to leave.

Fenris caught his wrist, and Anders turned back around.

"What—"

That was as far as he got before Fenris pressed his mouth on Anders' in a quick, light kiss. Anders blinked at him, surprised, but he couldn't help smiling. Fenris looked equally surprised by his own behaviour, but he was still holding Anders' wrist, so maybe he wasn't regretting it.

It was possible that goodbye kisses were a thing in the kind of a relationship they had, after all. If they were, well, Anders could live with that.


	8. In Which Anders Begs

Hawke had kept Fenris busy for several nights with Maker knew what—though Anders suspected it had a lot to do with some unsavoury characters ending up dead—and Anders was beginning to miss the elf. That was odd; for years, he'd been fine with the occasional one-night stand and nothing more, but it seemed that after a few nights together, he'd already gotten used to having Fenris warming his bed.

That had to be a problem, but Anders tried not to dwell on it too much. So what if he liked sleeping with Fenris? There was nothing wrong in taking his pleasure from the elf. They both wanted it, and it had made dealing with Fenris marginally easier, so it was all only a good thing. He had the right to enjoy it as long as it lasted, because it could never last forever, anyway.

In Fenris's absence, he filled his days with his work and his nights with writing until he was so tired he had no other option but to crawl into bed and sleep. Had he truly lived like this before Fenris had fallen into his arms? That seemed impossible.

Justice was restless, though the spirit refused to acknowledge it had anything to do with Fenris. His focus seemed to be on the mages in templar custody, but at times, Anders got the feeling Justice missed their elf too. There was a strange comfort in that; at least Anders wasn't the only fool who couldn't get the pretty, scowly bastard out of his mind.

When Fenris did finally appear at Anders's door, the elf didn't waste any time. Anders had barely had the chance to greet him before Fenris was dragging him towards the back of the clinic by the collar of his shirt, mouth busy on his.

Anders found himself yet again pinned to the wall, Fenris's body hot and hard against him. Greedy hands were pulling off his clothes, and Anders clung to Fenris's neck and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him again until they were both breathless with it. He'd missed Fenris's mouth on his and the feel of soft skin under his hands. He'd missed Fenris's scent and the way the elf touched him, the way their bodies fit together.

Most of all, he'd missed the tingling warmth of the lyrium, and to get the full benefit of that, he needed to have Fenris naked as soon as possible.

His fingers went to the clasps of Fenris's armour, clumsy with the unfamiliar task. He could handle the gauntlets—which Fenris was still wearing, Anders really needed to get rid of those as soon as the elf's hands stopped working on his clothes—but the rest was much more difficult, to the point that he feared he'd sprain a finger before he reached Fenris's skin.

"Do you _have_ to wear so much metal and leather?" he complained.

"Yes," Fenris said. He pushed Anders' trousers and smalls down to pool around his boots and took a step back. "Remove those yourself"—he gestured towards Anders' feet—"and I shall take care of my own clothing."

Anders would have liked the pleasure of undressing Fenris, but the elf could do it a lot faster and with a considerably smaller chance of injury himself, so he didn't argue. He yanked off his boots and struggled out of his trousers, his eyes riveted on lyrium-tattooed skin being revealed. He wouldn't get tired of that sight anytime soon.

It was always impressive how fast Fenris could get rid of that amount of armour, and then the elf was on him, trapping his naked body against the cold wall again. There he paused, his eyes searching Anders', something warm and tender reflecting in their depths for a moment before he kissed Anders again.

Anders surrendered to the kiss, hands clutching at Fenris's back, greedy to feel both the smooth skin and the lyrium finally under them. The elf's next kiss was more aggressive, sharp teeth pressing into Anders' lower lip with enough force to hurt, and Anders' knees were starting to feel weak.

"Bed," he choked out. "Fenris…"

Fenris pulled back, and without the elf's weight supporting him, Anders' unsteady legs almost gave out. Fenris caught him, and before Anders could do more than gasp, picked him up with one arm around Anders' back and the other under the crook of his knees.

Anders clutched the elf's neck. He kept forgetting how strong Fenris was.

How annoying.

Holding Anders tightly, Fenris carried him to the bed, and Anders couldn't decide if he found the whole ordeal more arousing or humiliating. Fenris laid him down, very gently, and crawled into the bed after him, straddling him on all fours.

"Did you—" Anders had to pause to clear his throat. "Did you really have to do that?"

"Yes," Fenris said, and swooped down to continue kissing him.

Anders had nothing against that.

They seemed to keep kissing forever, mouths never leaving each other's for more than a heartbeat, but finally Fenris moved down, lips trailing along Anders' neck and over his chest and lower still. Pausing above Anders' pelvis, Fenris looked up and met Anders' eyes. The elf gave him a wicked smile Anders recognised, and he had just enough time to clamp a hand over his mouth before Fenris's lips wrapped around him.

The noise he made was embarrassingly high-pitched, despite being muffled behind his palm. Fenris glanced up at him, green eyes smug, and took him in deeper. Anders made another helpless noise. Maker, it was unfair how good that mouth was. He would have died for that mouth.

Fenris seemed to enjoy what he was doing too, licking and sucking at Anders with enthusiasm Anders had rarely encountered. It didn't take long before Anders was aching, his hips rising from the bed without conscious thought. The hand over his mouth could hardly silence his moans and keens, and he gave up and let it fall away, clinging to the sheets instead.

Hearing his cries only encouraged Fenris, his hands gripping Anders' hips and pulling them up, guiding Anders to thrust into his mouth. Already, Anders was so close—too close.

"Fenris," he gasped. "I don't want to come like this."

Fenris didn't seem to give a damn. His mouth kept working Anders, each lick of his tongue pushing Anders closer to the edge until Anders was moments away from losing himself.

Desperate, he clutched at Fenris's hair and pulled the elf's head up.

"Fenris, Fenris, please, for the love of everything that's good and beautiful, have mercy on me."

Fenris had the audacity to laugh, his eyes bright, and he replaced his mouth with his hand. Shaky and breathless, Anders cursed and caught Fenris's wrist with his other hand.

"Take me already. Maker, please, stop torturing me."

Fenris leant over him and cupped his cheek. "This is hardly torture."

"Is too," Anders insisted. His hand was still tangled in Fenris's hair. "Could you _please_ just do me?"

Fenris seemed to consider that. "I like it when you beg, mage," he said after a moment. "Maybe I would like to hear some more." His thumb stroked across Anders' cheekbone. "If you want me in you, you beg."

"Fenris…"

"Beg me, mage."

Anders closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. "Fine." He swallowed and opened his eyes to meet Fenris's gaze. "Please, Fenris. Take me. I need you in me, _please_."

With a mock-thoughtful expression on his face, Fenris tilted his head. "Not good enough," the elf said. "Try harder."

"I hate you," Anders muttered under his breath, and gave a reproachful tug to Fenris's hair.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. Anders tilted his head back and gave up.

"Fine. _Please_. Take me now, I need you so badly you can't understand. Your mouth is perfect and you bloody well know it but right now it's not _enough_ , I'm so empty without you in me. I've been waiting for _days_ , please have mercy and _take me_."

"Better," Fenris said, kissing his cheek. "But do not stop."

 _Bastard_ , Anders thought. "Please," he said out loud. "I want you like mad."

"As you should. Hands and knees."

Not wasting a moment, Anders let go of Fenris's hair and wrist and obeyed, and Fenris reached for the jar of grease.

It took the elf forever to slick himself up, but finally, he was breaching Anders, so thick and burning hot and exactly what Anders had wanted. Anders forced his breathing to stay steady and did his best to relax as his body struggled to adjust to the near-painful intrusion. The slow slide into the core of him seemed never-ending, and Anders buried his face into the pillow, accepting Fenris inside him, letting the sweet ache of it wash over him.

"Please," he mumbled. "Please, _please_."

"You will get what you want," Fenris promised.

He pulled back, and Anders expected another slow push.

What he got was a sharp snap of Fenris's hips, and he the cry that escaped his lips was half shock, half pleasure. He braced himself on his forearms and shifted his knees on the thin mattress, eager for more.

Fenris seemed to be in the mood to play with him. The elf stilled deep inside him, hands stroking his back and along his sides, and all Anders could do was pant, powerless and at Fenris's mercy. He wanted Fenris so much it was making him shaky, and then, suddenly—

"Elf. Fenris."

Fenris's hands on him stilled immediately. "What is it?"

"I…" Anders hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage. "Would you—could you…" He swallowed. This was stupid. He should shut up and let Fenris have him.

"Mage?"

"Say that you want me too," Anders blurted.

Fenris's hold of him tightened, fingertips digging in. "Of course I want you. More than I should, I am certain."

The words send warmth spreading though Anders. He'd known that, could feel the evidence of it forcing his body open in the most perfect way possible, but hearing Fenris say the words made a world of difference. "Say it again," he breathed.

Fenris leant down and pressed a kiss on Anders' spine between his shoulder blades. "I want you. I would not be here if I did not." Anders could feel those soft lips curving into a smile against his back. "Do you wish me to beg too, mage?"

Anders couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up his throat. "Not this time," he said.

Fenris dropped another kiss on Anders' spine. "Do not doubt my desire for you." And he pulled back, only to push himself deep into Anders again.

Anders groaned and thrust his hips back. Fenris wrapped his arms around Anders' chest and knelt up, pulling Anders along with him so that Anders was straddling his lap, his back pressed to Fenris's chest. Fenris's hold of him was tight enough that Anders could hardly even twitch. The elf's lyrium was warm against his skin wherever it was touching him, and he was full and desperate for more than simply being impaled this way.

"Please, Fenris," he begged, squirming in the elf's grip. "Let me…"

The arms around him tightened further, and he was trapped and shaking with his need.

"Not yet."

"You bloody bastard, I—"

"That," Fenris said, "is not how you get what you want." He kissed the back of Anders' neck. "How do you get what you want?"

Anders cursed under his breath. "Please," he said, writhing on the elf, his frantic need clear in his voice. "Fenris, please, let me move. _Please_."

There was a silent moment, Fenris unmoving, spreading Anders so wide, Anders breathing hard, his entire body tense, and then the elf's hold of him eased. With a relieved moan, Anders moved, eager to feel Fenris inside him, eager to be filled and claimed and have the elf as deep in him as possible. Each shift of his hips sent shocks of pure extasy racing through him. It had only been a few days, but he'd missed this so much.

Fenris's hands travelled up his chest, fingers tracing ribs and scars and circling around his nipples, and then one hand began to slide downwards over his sweaty skin. It was clear where it was headed.

"Don't touch me!" Anders gasped and froze. He was already so close he couldn't see straight. "If you touch me, I won't last a moment."

The hand stopped on his lower belly, an inch above its target. Anders stared at it and tried to keep breathing.

"Perhaps I don't care if you will last. Perhaps I will push you over the edge and then take my pleasure from your writhing, helpless, limp body." Fenris kissed Anders' ear. "I wonder how you will sound, wrung out and exhausted, powerless to stop me."

Anders whined. "Fenris, please. Please, just—please, _please_." He wasn't sure what he was asking for anymore.

Fenris hummed softly. "I so adore the way you beg, mage," he whispered, and then both of his hands gripped Anders' hips. "Move for me."

Shuddering, Anders did, up and down, filling himself again and again, thighs trembling with the strain of it.

One of Fenris's hands made its way back up his chest and to his throat and tilted his head back. There was hardly any pressure, but the potential danger of such a touch had Anders shivering. Fenris let out a satisfied sound, and the lyrium all over his body lit up without a warning. Anders cried out, clenching around the elf, and inside him, Justice shook with need. Fenris hummed, low and satisfied, and nuzzled the nape of his neck. The fingers on Anders' throat tightened for a brief moment before they let go and went back to exploring him.

The elf's hands seemed to be everywhere, all over Anders' body, the heat of the lyrium etched in his palms like a brand on Anders' chest and thighs and arms, and Anders caught Fenris's wrists in a desperate attempt to ground himself. That didn't change the way Fenris's hands danced over his sweaty skin, and Anders was struggling to keep himself moving, his thighs aching as he rose up and dropped back down to take Fenris into him again, and again, slick and easy and so very good.

It was impossible to cling to any kind of rhythm anymore, and he shook and whined as Fenris brushed against the right spot with every shift of Anders's hips. He was so hard it hurt, and he realised it didn't matter to him anymore if Fenris pushed him over the edge and then kept taking him after until he was screaming with it.

"Let me—please, let me—I need to—"

"No," Fenris said. The word was breathy, but he was still so in control, apparently happy to have Anders writhing on him for the rest of the night.

His hands made their way to Anders's inner thigs, and stayed there. Glowing, they travelled up and down in time with Anders' unsteady movements, fingertips trailing over the sensitive skin until Anders thought he'd go mad with it. He couldn't help but to stare at those hands, his breath catching every time Fenris almost touched him where he was desperate to be touched.

"You, ah, you want me dead," he accused.

Fenris laughed, a low, rumbling sound Anders could feel in his chest. "No; only incoherent with need."

"Cruel."

Fenris hummed and said nothing. His hands stayed still where they were touching Anders, only pressed into his skin a little harder, sinking the burn of the lyrium deeper into his flesh. Inside him, Justice was lost in the sea of pleasure, and Anders' fingers clenched around Fenris's wrists and he _wanted_.

"Please," he begged again. "Please, I need to—"

"You told me not to touch you."

"That was—that was then. Please, I'm so close, let me touch myself if you—if you won't touch me." His fingertips were digging into Fenris's skin. " _Please_ , Fenris."

"You beg so well when you wish to, mage."

Fenris's hands moved up Anders' thighs to his hips, so close to where Anders wanted them. Anders whimpered, trembling, tempted to let go of Fenris and reach out for himself. His skin felt too tight, too hot, and he needed to come right this very moment or he would never survive. He ground himself down on Fenris's lap, twisting, squirming, beyond desperation now.

"Please," he whispered, the word the last one left in his head. "Puh-plea— _oh_."

Without a warning, Fenris's fingers were wrapping around Anders' aching hardness, the heat of the lyrium almost painful as it sank into his straining flesh. He could have cried with relief.

It only took a few rough strokes before Anders fell apart, his mouth open in a silent scream, his entire body shuddering with it, hands tightening around Fenris's wrists with force that must have hurt.

He didn't have time to recover before Fenris shoved him forward, face first into the sheets. He spread his legs and lifted his hips and allowed Fenris to take him hard, each push into him merciless and almost too much. Anders couldn't keep from moaning, his hands still clinging to the elf's wrists where he clutched at Anders' hips, his hold tightening with each thrust.

Just as Anders was sure he couldn't take it a moment more, would go mad with oversensitivity, Fenris made a soft noise against his back, shiverning as he found his completion inside Anders.

With a shaky sigh, Anders buried his face in the pillow and waited for them both to regain their breaths.

It didn't surprise Anders that once they were able to move, he ended up on his back with Fenris curled against him, mostly on top of him. Though Anders would have never admitted it out loud, there was something unfairly endearing about how cuddly Fenris was after sex. Dosing in Anders' arms, the elf looked more content than Anders had ever expected him to be capable of being. He rather liked it.

"I was right, earlier," Anders said.

Fenris shifted to look at him, blinking his eyes open. "About what?"

"About the positive effects of getting laid. You're doing me on regular basis and what do you know, you are indeed a lot less of a bastard." He paused to consider for a moment. "Or rather, you're now a bastard in such a way that leaves me feeling absolutely wrecked in the best possible sense of the word, which is a marked improvement."

"Very amusing, mage."

Anders smiled at the ceiling and held Fenris tighter. "I'm here all week."

Fenris huffed, the warm air tickling Anders's skin. "I liked you more when you were begging."

"Well, it's your job to make me do it again," Anders said and gave Fenris's silky hair a light tug.

The elf lifted his head and met Anders' eyes. His gaze was full of renewed heat. "That will not be a hardship."

A pleasant shiver ran through Anders. "How about you make me do it again _now_?"

Fenris's smile turned wicked. "With _pleasure_."

They slept in the next morning, and Justice didn't have anything against that. Fenris's lyrium was having a positive effect on the spirit. Enough of this, and it would make Anders' life a lot easier. He could imagine Justice becoming almost mellow, though that may have been wishful thinking.

Fenris seemed surprisingly calm and almost friendly too; Anders even got a goodbye kiss again. The elf seemed to be leaning more firmly towards wanting Anders instead of wanting to punch him, and Anders wasn't objecting on that development by any means either. He had never been fond of being punched, and much preferred the pleasant soreness the past night's activities had left behind.

He still didn't quite know where he was standing with Fenris, but he decided it was safe to be cautiously optimistic about their chances to learn to get along even outside the bedroom one day.


	9. In Which Anders Has an Unwanted Admirer, and Fenris Speaks About Ownership

Anders' first impression of the merchant was that he had more coin than style, and that he'd had a bit too much to drink if he'd come to a place like the Hanged Man. His kind tended to spend their nights in a little classier places.

"You're too lovely to be going home alone, lad," the man slurred.

Anders' immediate second impression was that he very much did not like the merchant. He caught the man's wrist and shoved away the hand that had made an attempt to explore the curve of his behind.

"I'm almost certain I won't be going home alone tonight, and that has nothing to do with you," he said as he took a step away from the man. The last thing he wanted was that hand making itself familiar with other parts of his anatomy.

The merchant stepped closer. His breath reeked of ale, and that did nothing to improve his appeal. "I'll pay you better," he offered, all the while eyeing Anders up and down.

If Anders hadn't already disliked this man, that would have ensured it. "Keep your money and bugger off." He turned to walk away.

Either unable or unwilling to take the hint, the merchant grabbed his arm and jerked him back. "I'm not going anywhere without you, pretty thing."

"Don't touch me," Anders hissed and yanked himself free from the man's grip.

"Aw, don't be like that," the merchant said. "You know you want it."

Had they not been surrounded by so many witnesses, Anders would have been happy to put a lightning right through one of the man's greedy eyes. Sadly, he had to settle for an angry look.

Maker, how he hated this.

"I really, really don't."

"Come on, don't be stubborn."

The man's hand reached out for his hip, and Anders sidestepped it, narrowing his eyes and wishing his glare held half the force Fenris's did. What made anyone think it was alright to grope him when he'd clearly said no, he didn't know.

"I can show you better time than anyone else here," the merchant continued, all cocky in a way that made Anders want to set him on fire. "You'll love it, sweetheart."

Anders very much doubted that, but before he had the chance to say anything more, a low, cold voice interrupted them from somewhere behind him, "If he says not to touch him, you do not touch him."

The man turned to look past Anders, eyebrows furrowing. "What? Is he yours then?"

Fenris's entire posture spoke of scorn as he stepped around Anders and stood there, half in front of him, glowering at the merchant.

"Mine? No. He is his own."

Justice's approval of those words wasn't a surprise, but Anders wasn't sure why they made him feel so warm. Of course he was his own; he didn't need anyone's opinion on that, least of all Fenris's, and yet it seemed to matter a lot.

"That's what you say, knife-ears"—the man wagged a finger at Fenris—"but you wouldn't be standing there, defending his so-called honour if you didn't at least _want_ him to be yours."

Fenris scoffed. "Don't reflect your own flaws upon me while insulting him. He is a free man, and no one should ever dream of possessing him." He turned to look at Anders, his scowl softening into something almost warm. "Would you like to hit him for his belligerence yourself, or should I do the honours?"

Anders almost laughed. "You'd probably kill the poor bastard with one punch, and I don't feel like bruising my knuckles for the sake of someone like him." Aware that their little scene was drawing more attention from the other patrons than he was comfortable with, he nodded towards the door. "Come on, let's just go."

He turned to walk away from the man, but a rough hand seized his arm again. "Listen, bitch, I'm not watching a pretty thing like you walk out of here with a blighted knife-ears!"

Anders yanked his arm free from the man's grip. He could feel how tense Fenris was beside him, like a snake ready to strike. One word from Anders, and the elf would have left the merchant bleeding on the floor.

Anders wasn't going to give that word. He was his own, after all, and could take care of himself.

"No, _you_ listen, you bloody drunken idiot," Anders began. "Given a choice between you and him, I would, without a moment's doubt, always, _always_ choose him, because he doesn't insult me by offering me money for my body. Fenris can be a rude, broody bastard"—the elf gave him a sharp look at that—"but at least he treats me with some respect these days. So you can sod off and keep your blighted money. I hope it comforts you when you have to settle for your own hand, while _I'll_ be having bloody fantastic time without you tonight."

The man spluttered, an offended look on his face. Anders didn't give a damn. He caught Fenris's arm and tugged the elf towards the door. "Let's go."

Behind them, the man kept yelling something, but Anders wasn't going to bother listening anymore.

"He's begging for a fist in his face," Fenris muttered, though he followed Anders outside without resistance.

Anders didn't disagree, but he wasn't in a mood to get in a fight tonight.

"I could _almost_ understand being propositioned in a brothel, but not in this dive," he muttered as he stopped on the street, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do I honestly look that much like a bloody prostitute?"

"You do not," Fenris said without hesitation. "But you are…"

When he didn't finish, Anders raised an eyebrow. "I'm what, exactly? Is there an insult or a compliment at the end of that sentence? I'm getting awfully curious here."

Fenris shrugged one shoulder and turned to walk down the street. "The way you look, I do not find it surprising that someone would find you desirable."

Anders was stunned enough that it took him a moment before he realised he probably should follow the elf. He had to jog a couple of steps to catch up with Fenris.

"That just replaced the top spot on the list of the nicest things you've ever said to me, and I'll have you know that that list includes you saying you want me."

Fenris huffed. Anders gave him a gentle nudge on the side.

"Idiot," Fenris said, but he didn't sound particularly angry.

They walked a while in silence, side by side.

"I appreciated the help," Anders said eventually. "Could've handled him myself, though."

"I have no doubt," Fenris answered, and he sounded as if he truly meant it. "I thought I would offer my support in any case. There seemed to be a risk of you revealing yourself a mage if he kept pawing at you."

That was certainly true.

"Well, thanks." Anders was still feeling rather pleased for the _he is his own_ comment. He gave Fenris a considering look. "So, does my knight in a shining armour want to bed me as a reward? I assume he does, based on the fact he _is_ walking towards my clinic with me, instead of going home."

Fenris threw him a sideways glance. "You dragged me out of there _and_ implied to your drunken admirer that you intended to sleep with me instead of him. Seems to me you are rather hopeful that I do want exactly that."

"Well, what can I say? Being saved makes me all hot and bothered."

"You are impossible," Fenris said.

"That's the way you like me," Anders told him, and despite the frown on his face, Fenris didn't deny it. "So, is that a yes?"

Fenris gave him a tiny, crooked smile. "That is a yes, mage."

Anders ended up on his back on his rickety desk, naked, with his legs around Fenris's hips as the elf leant over him. Fenris had removed his gauntlets and left his sword propped against the wall but was still wearing the rest of his armour and clothes.

With one bare hand, Fenris cupped his cheek. "Perhaps I should feel sorry for the poor fools you lure in with your wiles, mage," he said. "You are a temptation many a man will find hard to withstand, I have no doubt."

Anders snorted. "Very funny. It's not my fault a bunch of idiots think I'm irresistible." He reached up to tangle his fingers in Fenris's hair. "But rest assured, you're the only idiot I'm interested in bedding right now."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. "Considering your current position, do you think it's wise to insult me?"

"Well I did manage to charm you _somehow_." Anders gave a gentle tug to Fenris's hair. "If it's not because you are a total twit, then I'd like to know how you explain it."

Fenris averted his eyes and the hand cupping Anders' cheek fell away. Anders blinked up at him. That had not been the response he'd been expecting. Some sort of an insult back, a bit of near-friendly banter? Sure.

This strange, sudden silence? Absolutely not.

"Elf?" He got no answer. "Fenris?"

For a while, Fenris stood there, leaning over Anders. Then his eyes returned to meet Anders's again. There was something in them Anders couldn't read, something dark and vast and strange.

"I suppose I am an idiot," Fenris said, and then kissed him before Anders could respond.

"Fenris," Anders tried to say, but Fenris silenced him with another kiss, a longer, harder one this time, and Anders decided to let it go. Fenris's kisses were like a drug Anders couldn't help craving, almost as addictive as the lyrium. The elf's mouth tasted so sweet, and the touch of his tongue was enough to wipe Anders' mind clear of all other thoughts.

Fenris shifted closer, his chest touching Anders', and Anders hissed at the biting cold of the breastplate against his skin and shoved the elf back.

"Get this thing _off_." He rapped at the metal with his knuckles.

Fenris caught his wrist. "Do not do that. It's very unpleasant."

Anders didn't even try to free his hand. "Your stupid armour is very unpleasant. Take it off, elf."

Fenris seemed to consider this. He had yet to release Anders' hand, and his thumb was stroking up and down the inside of Anders' wrist. Anders didn't mind, but he really wanted Fenris naked.

"Come on," he said.

"As you wish." Fenris released his wrist and removed the breastplate. The leather armour and the rest of his clothes followed, the effect as enticing as ever, and then he pressed his naked body against Anders's again. "Better?"

"Much," Anders said, tightening his legs around Fenris's waist, and cupped the back of the elf's neck to pull him down into a kiss. "Now, if you'd kindly do what I've wanted you to do all evening, I would _really_ appreciate it."

"You have to tell me what it is that you have yearned for."

As if the blighted elf didn't know already. "Take me," Anders said.

Fenris kissed him again. "Gladly." He paused, his lips brushing Anders'. "I would prefer to have something slick, though."

Anders tilted his head back, his eyes searching. He was sure he'd left a bottle of herbal oil on the desk the day before.

"There." The bottle was right beside his ink bottle and quill, and he inclined his head towards it. "The left one," he clarified, though he doubted Fenris would have thought ink an appropriate lubricant anyway.

Fenris reached for the bottle and gave it a suspicious look, tilting it in his hand. "Is this safe?"

"It's mostly oil," Anders reassured him.

Green eyes narrowed. "Mostly?"

"It's going _inside_ me, elf, do you honestly think I'd let you stick something potentially harmful into my body? Oil and herbs, trust me. No magical properties either."

Fenris pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured some on his palm. Anders could feel the scent of the herbs, and Fenris wrinkled his nose, but didn't make any further comments before spreading the oil over his hardness. Slick fingers slipped between Anders' legs, smearing the oil there, and then a tip of a finger pushed into him.

"You're wasting time, elf," Anders protested. "Get in me already."

The corner of Fenris's mouth ticked up and he pushed the finger a fraction deeper. "But I like touching you, mage. I enjoy seeing your writhe on my fingers."

"Do that some other time. I promise I'll writhe a lot more if you just _take me_."

"As you wish," Fenris said again. He slipped his finger out and took himself in hand before shifting to press against Anders, hot and hard and everything Anders had ever wanted.

"Come on," Anders urged.

Fenris pushed into him, slow and gentle but inexorable, and Anders exhaled. The first slick slide inside always felt new and nearly too much, his body adjusting to the almost-pain of the penetration. Fenris filled him so perfectly that it wasn't fair, and Anders wanted him with burning intensity.

Hips finally flush with Anders, Fenris stilled and met his eyes. The elf's pupils were beautifully dilated, and Maker, how tempting his mouth looked with his lips parted like that. Anders would have demanded a kiss, but before he had a chance to do that, Fenris leant in and brought their mouths together.

Anders didn't think he'd ever been with anyone who had kissed him as often as Fenris did, but he wasn't complaining.

Still kissing, Fenris gave him a shallow thrust, and Anders moaned into his mouth. He felt so full, so good, and wondered how it looked, their bodies joined together.

It occurred to him that though he couldn't see, he could always _feel_ , and he couldn't resist. He reached down between his legs to touch where they were connected, traced his fingertips over his own slick, stretched-taut skin, shuddering. Fenris was so deliciously thick, and feeling it like this, knowing exactly how wide his body was forced to open, was almost too much.

"Fenris," he breathed and pulled his hand back.

Fenris kissed him again, and the next thrust was a little deeper, a little more forceful, sending pleasure sparking through his body. His legs tightened around Fenris, the heel of one foot digging into the curve of Fenris's behind, encouraging the elf to take him harder.

Slowly, Fenris's thrusts picked up pace until the desk was rattling with the force of it. A messy pile of papers fell from the edge and fluttered to the floor, but Anders didn't give a damn, only clutched at Fenris tighter.

With the elf moving inside him like that, it didn't take long before he was writhing on the desk, just as he'd promised, his back arching off the cool wood. Fenris knew how to drive him out of his mind, keeping the angle of his thrusts exactly right to hit the perfect spot inside Anders every time.

The elf's hand made its way between his legs and wrapped around him, and Anders cried out, the sound echoing through his clinic. Fenris bared his teeth into something that wasn't quite a smile, that hand moving on him in time with the elf's thrusts, pushing him closer to the edge with each stroke.

"Fen—Fen—" Anders gasped, again and again, never quite getting to the end of the name.

Each roll of Fenris's hips was taking him higher, building the pressure inside him until it was almost unbearable. If he'd had the words, he would have begged for something, anything, but as it was, he could only let out garbled cries, his nails digging into Fenris's back as he clutched onto the elf.

Fenris's eyes were locked on his, and Anders couldn't look away. He was shaking, almost ready to fall apart, and Fenris didn't seem to be far behind, the elf's cheeks flushed and lips parted to let out heavy breaths. He was perfect, and if, at that moment, he had asked Anders to be his, if he'd demanded to own Anders in any way, Anders would have said yes.

Fenris's tattoos lit up, and the resulting sharp jolt of pleasure had Anders arching up, moaning helplessly. Fenris was shivering above him, hips grinding against Anders in jerky little thrusts as he gasped. The grip of his fingers tightened around Anders, the pulls of his hands losing their beautiful rhythm as his control shattered and he came inside Anders, eyes squeezed shut, but it didn't matter. It was still fantastic, still all Anders had ever wanted.

It was the look of near-pained bliss on the elf's face that triggered Anders' own completion. He clung to Fenris, crying out as the pleasure crested and he spilled himself over Fenris's still-moving fingers and on their bellies.

It took them both a long while to collect themselves, breaths steadying, heartbeats slowing down, but finally Fenris straightened and pulled Anders up with him. Anders found himself wobbling on his feet, clutching at Fenris for support. The elf gave him a smug look before tugging him away from the desk.

They made it to the bed even though it turned out Anders wasn't the only one who was still a bit shaky, and curled under the covers, Fenris mostly on top of Anders. It seemed that was how the elf preferred to sleep, and Anders had nothing against that. Fenris's weight on him was pleasant, and so was the heat his body radiated.

"So," Anders said, running his fingers though Fenris's hair. "I am my own, huh?"

Fenris blinked up at him, confusion evident on his face, and then seemed to realise what Anders was referring to.

"Of course you are, mage. Do you think _I_ would approve of possessing another living, thinking being?"

Considering Fenris's past, that did make a lot of sense.

"You are your own," Fenris continued. "I am my own. What we share with each other, we share on our own free will, without having to make ourselves the property of another."

That sounded rather beautiful. Neither of them was something to be possessed, and foolish, lust-addled moments aside, Anders had no interest in being owned or owning anyone.

"Listen to you, sounding almost poetic about this," he teased gently.

To his surprise, a ghost of a smile graced Fenris's lips. Anders cupped the elf's cheek and brushed his thumb across that beautiful mouth.

"You know, you should smile more often. You're gorgeous even when you're scowling, but Maker, that smile could stop a man's heart."

Fenris pushed Anders' hand down and turned his face away, his devastating smile gone as suddenly as it had appeared. "Don't make fun of me, mage."

"I'm not!" Anders returned his hand on Fenris's cheek and turned the elf back to face him. "I'm serious."

Fenris gave him a sideways look. "You are an idiot."

"Well that makes two of us then."

Fenris huffed.

"Come on," Anders said. "Give me a kiss and a smile, you pretty, poetic bastard."

Fenris's mouth twitched, and then he leant down to press it on Anders', light and gentle.

When he pulled back, he was smiling, something soft lingering in the endless depths of his eyes. "Happy now, mage?"

"Close enough," Anders told him and dragged him into another kiss.


	10. In Which Anders and Fenris Have an Argument, but Can’t Keep Their Hands off Each Other

It started with an offhand comment that hardly meant a thing.

"You two seem to be getting along today," Aveline said.

It was an idle observation, nothing more, but she was right. Anders and Fenris had been sitting side by side in Hawke's parlour without as much as an angry look passing between them while Hawke had been explaining the details of the next quest he'd planned. Of course, her otherwise harmless words led to Fenris insulting Anders, Anders insulting the elf right back, and before anyone else had a chance to say anything, they were both standing, yelling cruelty at each other.

They hadn't fought in a while, and Anders had gotten used to the kinder version of the elf to the point that he was surprised by how uncomfortable he found Fenris's sudden ire. It made him feel off balance; unlike before, the mean words had the power to hurt him now. When they'd been nothing but enemies, Fenris's hatred had been meaningless, if unpleasant, but now the insults felt personal and made him want to dig his fingers deep into every sore spot Fenris had ever had.

He ignored Justice when the spirit pointed out that if Anders let it go, Fenris would back down too, the fight wouldn't escalate any further and neither of them would end up saying something they would regret. He didn't care about regrets anymore. Fenris had hurt him, and he wanted to hurt the elf back, no matter the cost.

Hawke and Aveline were watching them with a mix of amusement and exasperation, and that made Anders feel vaguely ashamed, but once he'd gotten started, he couldn't stop.

"If we weren't guests in Hawke's house, I would set you on fire!"

"Oh you would, _mage_!" Fenris spat out the last word like a curse. "Your kind is all the same, incapable of causing anything but pain and suffering."

"Oh, that's rich! Remind me here, which one of us is the healer, and which one is a little better than a hired killer? I _mend_ things, you can only break and destroy them!"

Anders had no doubt he would have gotten punched for that if Hawke hadn't chosen that moment to step between them. "That's _enough_. If you two are going to be like that, _go outside_. I'm not taking you with me anywhere when you can't behave."

Anders crossed his arms over his chest. "Fenris started it."

"Give me a moment and I will _end_ it," the elf snarled.

"You're children!" Aveline gave them both an exasperated look. "They're _children_ , Hawke."

Anders turned to glare at her. From the corner of his eye, he could see Fenris do the same. Neither of them seemed to have any effect on her.

Hawke gave a longsuffering sigh. "They are. Mark my words, these two will make me go grey."

Fenris muttered something that didn't sound polite, though Anders couldn't make out the words. Hawke may have caught what he'd said, because he turned towards the elf, pointing at him. "Out."

"But—"

"Out. Now."

Fenris glowered at Hawke for a moment, and then turned on his heels and marched out of the room with his head held high and back stiff, a look of supreme indignation on his face.

"Bye-bye!" Anders called after him.

"Oh no," Hawke said. "You too."

"But—"

"Out. And stay away from Fenris until the two of you can act like adults, or neither of you will be invited to the next quest either!"

Anders send a pleading look to Aveline's direction.

"You'd better listen to him," she said. "I think he's serious, for once in his life."

"He is very serious," Hawke confirmed.

Dejected, Anders followed Fenris out.

He found the elf standing near the front door, looking incensed. For a moment, they glared at each other. Anders was well aware that he'd been told to keep his distance, but he was too angry and hurt to walk away.

"This is your fault," Fenris said.

Which was stupid, since the elf had started it. Justice told Anders to keep his mouth shut and go home, because stayng would only hurt him more. If they continued the fight, they could destroy all the good between them with a few angry words, and winning an argument was not worth that.

Anders ignored his advice again.

"No, it's yours. If you could just behave like someone _normal_ instead of being so bloody consumed by hate, we would be not be standing here right now."

Fenris scoffed and took an intimidating step closer. Anders refused to retreat.

"Normal? The abomination has the gall to say that _I_ am not normal!"

Justice bristled at that and did not tell Anders he should stop fighting anymore.

"Yes, I do." Anders crossed his arms over his chest. "You're too caught up in the past and just _love_ to use it as an excuse to be a hateful bastard. That is not normal, elf! No one normal turns hatred into half of their blighted personality!"

"It's a wonder you haven't been sent to the Gallows by now."

Fenris didn't address what Anders said, which probably meant that Anders had hit a little too close to home. He could only feel bitter satisfaction for that.

"Planning to go give the templars a hint about an apostate now?" he asked nastily. "I bet you're trying to come up with a way to do that without Hawke ever finding out. He is the only reason you haven't done it before, isn't he?"

"You would deserve that," Fenris spat. "It surprises me no one has reported you to them by now."

"I'm rather well liked, actually," Anders said. He poked Fenris on the shoulder with a finger. "No one else would sink that low but _you_."

Fenris didn't seem to have a response to that. Instead of saying anything, he caught Anders by the collar, and Anders found himself pinned to a wall, with an angry elf, now glowing blue with lyrium, glaring at him. They were both breathing hard, their chests pressed together, and Anders could feel the heat of Fenris's body and lyrium sinking into his skin.

It seemed very familiar all of a sudden. Anders looked into Fenris's bright, angry eyes, and couldn't think of a single reason to continue the stupid, pointless fight anymore.

"You know, the last time you had me trapped against a wall like this, that pretty mouth of yours was doing something completely different than yelling abuse at me."

Fenris's eyes widened at the same time as his pupils dilated. It was a pleasing sight, much better than the anger that had burned in those eyes a moment ago. Justice's tension drained away as if it had never been there at all.

They both stayed still for a long while, bodies flush together, breathing the same air.

"Just kiss me, you angry bastard," Anders demanded.

Fenris kissed him.

It was a brutal kiss, all tongue and teeth and no gentleness, and Anders wouldn't have had it any other way. He buried his hands in Fenris's hair to keep the elf close and gave back as good as he got, until they were both breathless, panting against each other's mouths. Anders was aching with his and Justice's combined need, and Fenris kissed him again, and again, crowding him against the wall with the entire weight of his body.

Somewhere a few streets away, someone yelled, and Anders realised where they were, what they were doing. He cursed and shoved Fenris away.

"Elf. We're in public. We're right in front of Hawke's home! He and Aveline may come out at any moment. We can't—not here."

Fenris let go of him and took another step back, the glow of his tattoos dimming. He had a wild look in his eyes, and Anders didn't know what he would do.

Fenris didn't seem to know what he'd do either, and for a while, they only stared at each other. They were both breathing hard, and Anders wanted Fenris more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life.

"Come," the elf said, eventually, and turned to walk down the street.

Without a moment's hesitation, Anders followed.

It was a wonder they made it through Hightown with their dignity intact. Justice was nearly vibrating with his desire for Fenris, and Anders' hands itched to reach out and pin the elf to the nearest wall and kiss him senseless, no matter who would see it. The glances Fenris kept throwing Anders' way suggested that he would have let it happen—that he would have welcomed it, even.

Anders was very glad he managed to keep his hands to himself and save them both from a very public scandal.

The moment the heavy front door of Fenris's mansion closed behind them, Anders pounced. He buried his hands in Fenris's hair and claimed his mouth, and Fenris kissed back with equal urgency, already working Anders out of his clothes.

They moved up the stairs and through the mansion in a series of shoves, shedding clothing and armour along the way, their mouths hardly leaving each other's. Anders wasn't sure how many times one of them ended up pinned to the nearest wall, kissing and being kissed, but every time it happened, he was certain they wouldn't get any further.

Somehow, they did end up into Fenris's bedroom anyway, and Anders had never been as glad that they made it to the bed as he was at that moment. The way Fenris was gripping him told him this was not going to be slow or gentle, and he didn't want slow and gentle either. He wanted it hard, sweat and bruises and pain mixing with pleasure to wash away the thoughtless words and to return the fragile balance they'd built before.

Fenris's kisses were rough and demanding as he pinned Anders to the sheets, and Anders kissed back with no less force, his nails digging into Fenris's back as he pulled the elf close. He had no doubt he was leaving bloody scratches on Fenris's skin, but the elf wasn't complaining, only kissing Anders as if he wanted to crawl inside him. Anders could feel Justice shivering in his eagerness, wanting this just as much as Anders did.

He didn't know how one body could stand that much desire without breaking apart.

One of Fenris's hands had reached for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, and then he pushed off Anders and rolled him onto his stomach. Anders went willingly, and when Fenris's hands caught his hips and pulled, he allowed himself to be arranged to his hands and knees.

He was tense with anticipation, hardly able to breathe as he listened to the slick sounds of Fenris spreading the oil on himself. It seemed to take forever, and even once Fenris was ready, he didn't take Anders immediately. Instead, slippery fingers brushed over his skin, one pushing into him, and Anders almost yelled at the elf; he wasn't some scared virgin who needed to get used to the feeling of being filled. He knew exactly how it felt to have Fenris inside him and he wanted that, right at that very moment, nothing else.

Before he had the chance to say anything, the finger slid out. Fenris shifted behind him, thighs touching his as the elf bent over him and stilled with one hand on Anders's hip. He was pressed against Anders exactly at the right spot, almost inside.

"Tell me yes." Fenris's voice was low and rough. "You have to tell me yes, or—"

His words broke into a garbled groan as Anders shoved his hips back and took the elf into his body.

"Yes," Anders snarled. Being so full so suddenly burned enough to make him grit his teeth, but he wanted it. "Yes, yes, _yes_. _Move_ , you bastard."

Fenris didn't argue. He took Anders hard, harder than ever before, almost hard enough to hurt, and Anders accepted the ruthless thrusts with sharp keens of pleasure. It was a relief to have Fenris inside him; for a moment, when they'd been yelling at each other, he'd thought he'd never have that again. Each brutal shove into him made the hurtful words they'd said fade, each sharp jolt of pleasure replaced them with something better, brighter.

Anders dropped to his elbows and pushed back against Fenris, letting his body give and take, every moment of it an apology written on sweaty skin, forgiveness painted with the wonderful ache of their flesh melding together.

Fenris was gasping, sometimes letting out bitten-off moans that sounded nearly agonised. Anders would have sworn he could feel the little control Fenris still had fraying as the elf lost himself in the pleasure of their coupling. What they were doing was primal, animalistic, and exactly what they both needed.

Anders reached down to touch himself, and it was almost too much. He shuffled his knees wider on the bed, canting his hips back, and Fenris grunted and slammed deep into him, pressing against the right place with intensity that had Anders seeing stars.

"Harder," he demanded, though he wasn't sure if that was at all possible. He was close, burning with it, his hand moving desperately on himself and his body aching with the need to come.

Fenris hands clung to his waist so hard it was painful, pulling him back into each trust, the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the room. Anders buried his face into the sheets, fingers tightening around himself, and the pleasure spilled over with such force that it left him breathless. He didn't even have enough air in his lungs to scream, only to whine weakly into the bedding.

Behind him, Fenris groaned, fingertips digging deeper into Anders' skin, but Anders could hardly feel it anymore, floating in the lingering haze of his orgasm. He accepted the final brutal thrusts Fenris gave him without a protest, and then, with a noise as if he was dying, Fenris slumped on top of him, flattening Anders to the sheets.

They lay there for a long while, sweaty bodies pressed together, Fenris still buried in Anders and Justice quiet in a way that suggested he'd forgotten what words were. Fenris's breaths were unsteady against Anders' skin but otherwise, he didn't even twitch.

Anders tried to look over his shoulder at the elf, but all he got was a glimpse of messy white hair.

"Elf?" he asked softly. "Fenris? Are you all right?"

"You"—Fenris's voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd been screaming, and he cleared his throat—" _you_ are asking _me_ that?" He lifted his head and slowly pushed himself off Anders, slipping out of him in the process. "Are _you_ all right?"

"I'm good. Andraste's sweet nipples, I'm great." He rolled over to his back and expected Fenris to settle down on top of him.

Instead, Fenris shifted to kneel beside him, trailing a hesitant hand down Anders' side. "I … may have bruised you."

Anders caught the hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Don't worry about it." He tugged Fenris closer. "Come on, you're too far away."

Fenris refused to move. "That was rather … rough."

Anders hummed. "I don't mind."

Fenris gave him a careful look, and Anders realised that wasn't going to cover it.

"Listen," he said, firm and steady, "I like it rough, sometimes. We had a fight. Rough sex was what we needed to get back to normal. Nothing wrong with that." He smiled up at the elf. "It was damn good, wasn't it?"

Fenris hesitated. "Well, yes, but—"

"Nope. No buts. It was good, it was satisfying, we both wanted it— _needed_ it like that. Now come _here_." He gave Fenris's hand another tug, and this time, the elf lay down on top of him, head resting on his chest where it belonged.

The room was cold, and the sweat cooling on Anders' skin made him shiver. Fenris seemed to realise that and reached for the covers, pulling them over them both. Anders wrapped his arms around Fenris, warm and comfortable now, and smiled at the ceiling. Fenris hadn't even lit up his lyrium, and still Anders' entire body was buzzing with satisfaction. The elf really was good at what he did. So good, in fact, that Anders didn't even regret them getting thrown out of Hawke's current quest when it had gotten him this.

Unlike most other times, Fenris didn't seem to be falling asleep. His breaths were still unsteady against Anders' chest, and his fingers kept twitching where they were touching Anders' side. For Anders, the sex had been catharsis, but it seemed Fenris was still restless.

"Talk to me," Anders said. "I can see there's something going on in that pretty little head of yours, and if it's going to keep us both awake, you can just as well tell me what it is."

Fenris stayed silent for a long while. When he finally spoke, his words were whisper-soft.

"I would not let the templars have you."

"Why?" Anders asked. "Is it because the sex is so good?" He wasn't entirely sure if he was joking or not.

There was another long silence. Anders waited for a while and then decided that he could let the whole silly thing go and sleep when the elf spoke.

"You are not as bad as other mages. You may not deserve … what they would do to you."

Anders almost laughed. "Was that supposed to be you being nice? Because if it was, you need a lot more practice."

Fenris said nothing. Anders shifted to look at him and found the elf frowning, his lips pressed into a thin line. Anders cupped his cheek and attempted to meet his eyes, but Fenris kept his gaze averted.

"Maker, you were actually trying to be nice."

Fenris nudged Anders' hand away and buried his face in Anders' chest. Anders caught the elf by the shoulders and pushed him up, and reluctantly, Fenris glanced at him and then away.

"You're terrible at nice, elf." Anders grinned up at him. "I mean, you've managed it a few times, pretty well, even—the whole 'you are your own'-speech was very good—but you still need a lot more practice. Come on, try it. Say something that in fact _is_ nice to me."

He was teasing, but Fenris seemed to take his words seriously. He gave Anders another quick glance before lowering his eyes to Anders' chest. Occasional spontaneous niceness might have been easier for him than this.

"I do not wish you gone," he offered eventually. "Or hurt."

He sounded self-conscious and uncertain, as if he wasn't sure his words would be appreciated, but there was something touching about his awkward honesty.

"Well done. Good job." Anders patted Fenris's cheek and got a sideways glare for his trouble. "I don't wish you gone or hurt either." He paused, because this was important, and he wanted Fenris to believe him. "Look at me, please."

Fenris hesitated a moment, but finally met his eyes, the earlier glare slowly fading.

"I didn't mean the things I said. When we were—you know. None of them," Anders said.

Fenris nodded. Anders pushed a hand into the elf's hair and gave it gentle tug.

"Andraste knows you're insufferable sometimes," Anders continued, "but my life would be a lot more boring without you."

"If that is what you consider being nice, I have strong doubts on whether I should be learning from you," Fenris said.

Anders smiled up at the elf and gave his hair another light tug. "All right, here's me being nice: I absolutely adore how sweet and cuddly you are after sex."

Fenris buried his face back in Anders' chest, but he wasn't fast enough and Anders caught a glimpse of the blush spreading over his cheeks.

"I hate you," he mumbled against Anders' skin.

Anders laughed and patted the back of his head. "That was _not_ very nice."

Fenris didn't answer.

Anders woke up to find Fenris walking into the room with a pile of clothes and armour held in his arms. The elf was wearing his leggings but nothing else, and though Anders would have preferred him naked, the sight of his bare chest was a pleasant one on its own too.

"How far did you have to go to get all of those?" Anders asked, gesturing towards the clothes.

Fenris's mouth quirked into a faint smile. "Your coat was on the floor by the front door."

"Well," Anders said, "at least everything was inside, if nothing else." He considered getting up, but based on how dark the sky was behind the window, it was still early. "Why are you out of the bed already?"

"I thought you would appreciate having your clothes waiting for you," Fenris said, and laid the pile of cloth and feathers and metal down. "As agreeable as it would have been to see you wandering around naked, looking for your trousers, I chose to be the polite host."

Anders snorted. "Well, much appreciated," he said. "You may not be so good at saying nice things, but doing them apparently works much better."

Fenris gave him a narrow-eyed look. Anders ignored it and patted at the mattress beside his hip. "Come back for a moment. What's the point of staying over if I can't have you in my arms in the morning?"

Fenris didn't seem to know what to make of that, but after a moment's hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed. Anders caught his hand and pulled, and Fenris settled down beside him.

"Much better," Anders said and pushed a hand through Fenris's hair.

Fenris hummed softly and rested his head on Anders' shoulder. It seemed they could still have a little nap before getting up. That suited Anders rather well.

In the end, he didn't end up falling asleep again, but holding Fenris and petting his hair may have been even nicer. He was never going to admit it out loud, but there was something calming about touching the elf like this, holding him close. It was like having a very large, broody cat, he thought, smiling at the ceiling.

No doubt Fenris would have objected that comparison.

They lay there together for a while, but eventually, Fenris rolled off Anders and reached for his tunic. With a heavy sigh, Anders dragged himself up too.

Fenris gave him a careful look, the tunic still hanging in his hands.

"I did bruise you."

Anders glanced down. There were indeed faint purpling marks on his sides where Fenris had gripped him.

"Don't worry about that." He called his magic and let the blue glow of it wipe away the barely-there bruising. "See? All better." He glanced at Fenris, aware that the elf wasn't the only one who'd gotten carried away. "I'm pretty sure I scratched your back to bleeding."

"Ah," Fenris said. "Well. You may have done that, yes."

"Want me to fix it?"

Fenris actually took a step away from him. "No magic," he stated, giving Anders a warning look.

Anders didn't argue, only raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No magic," he said.

Fenris looked at him for a moment, as if unsure if Anders could be trusted not to heal him against his will, but finally went back to dressing. He didn't bother with his armour yet, and the sight of him like that, with his lyrium-branded arms bare, was an unfair little temptation.

With a sigh, Anders reached for his own clothes. It was a shame Fenris didn't want to be healed. Based on previous experience, sleeping together had made the elf sensitive to his magic in a new and fascinating way, and the tiniest bit of healing could have led to some interesting results—which may have been the reason Fenris was refusing it now.

It seemed Anders needed to build the trust between them a bit further, and maybe, one day he could show Fenris how damn good magic could be. Especially in bed.

Justice liked the idea almost as much as Anders did.

Anders didn't even try to turn down the breakfast Fenris had set up for them.

The elf kept watching him as he ate, as if he had to make sure Anders emptied his plate, but after the previous night's exercise, Anders was starving and didn't need encouragement. He was glad Fenris was generous enough to share his food with him, because the thought of walking home on empty stomach didn't hold much appeal.

It didn't take him long to finish his meal, and when he looked up from his plate, Fenris gave him a faint smile.

"Thanks," Anders said.

Fenris nodded and reached out for their empty plates before stilling, his hand hovering over the table for a while. As Anders watched, curious, he pulled his hand back, got up from his chair, marched around the table and paused beside Anders.

"What—?" Anders began.

Fenris cupped his cheek, titled his head back, and gave him a tender but very thorough kiss.

Anders was left panting when his mouth was finally released. Fenris was looking at him, something gentle and vaguely familiar in his eyes.

"What—what was that for?" Anders asked, once he could speak again. It had felt different from Fenris's usual light goodbye kisses.

"Consider it the apology for my cruel words." Fenris pressed another kiss on his forehead, one hand combing a few strands of stray hair back from his face. "As you said, I may be better at doing nice things than saying them."

"Well, kisses are always more than appreciated. And if you felt like being _really_ nice, you could give me one more."

Fenris didn't hesitate before leaning down and pressing his mouth on Anders' again. This kiss was harder, the kind that made Anders wish they could take this back to the bedroom.

His reluctance clear, Justice reminded Anders that they had work to do, and Anders didn't bother arguing. He dragged himself up from his seat and stole one more quick kiss, and then forced himself to leave before he lingered long enough to haul Fenris back to bed.

As he walked slowly back to Darktown and to his clinic, Anders took comfort in the thought that Fenris had seemed disappointed when Anders had left too.


	11. In Which There Is an Alley, and Anders Has Trouble Staying Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely art inspired by this chapter by [DragonDracarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDracarys/pseuds/DragonDracarys) [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22830052).

Anders arrived to the Hanged Man to find Fenris already sitting at Varric's table, cards held in one hand and a bottle of wine beside the other. As Anders took a seat opposite to the elf, he noticed the wary looks Hawke and Aveline—back from the quest Anders and Fenris had most certainly not gone with them—were giving to them both.

"I'll play nice," Anders told them. He met Fenris's eyes. "We have all our differences settled, haven't we, elf?"

Fenris looked away, lips pursed, and didn't answer. Thanks to the dim light and the darkness of the elf's skin Anders couldn't be sure, but there may have been a hint of blush on his cheeks. The sheer thought was delightful.

"I'd like to believe that," Hawke muttered, "but somehow, I don't."

"None of us do," Aveline said, and got several agreeing nods from the others around the table. "But we pray for it to be true one day."

Anders couldn't blame them, and in all honesty, it was better if they thought nothing had changed between Fenris and him. The last thing Anders wanted was someone to figure out what they were doing on their spare time. It was a private matter, and though Anders had declared he much preferred Fenris over a drunken stranger, he was not going to admit that in front of their friends. Fenris and he had a long and well-known history of animosity, and letting everyone know how much that had changed would have been nothing short of humiliating.

They settled to play, but as so often these days, Anders found himself distracted by Fenris. Every time Fenris shifted his cards or lifted his wine bottle to his lips, Anders' eyes were drawn towards him. He could only hope none of their companions were perceptive enough to notice, but the amount of drink in them all probably made them somewhat less observant.

Since he couldn't do anything else about the situation, he decided it was only fair to distract the elf back.

The lyrium made that easy. Justice had always been attuned to the elf, but after so many nights in the same bed, the spirit knew _exactly_ where Fenris was. In a pitch-dark room, Anders could have walked right to Fenris, taken the elf's hands in his own and kissed him on the mouth without fumbling. Justice could tell the precise position of each silvery-white line embedded into soft brown skin when they were close enough—which meant that Anders could stretch his leg out and rest his ankle against Fenris's without having to worry about kicking the elf, or mistaking someone else's leg for Fenris's.

Fenris tensed at the touch but did not pull his leg away, and Anders smiled at his cards. Despite the thickness of his boots, he could feel the lyrium, perfect and tempting. He would have sworn he could feel the heat of Fenris's body too, almost as lovely as the lyrium itself.

After a moment, Fenris's leg relaxed and shifted to lean more firmly against Anders'. Anders had to struggle to keep his attention on the game and not to grin like a fool, and he was almost certain that Fenris was having some trouble with staying focused too.

None of that did much to help with Anders' chances of winning, and after losing two more rounds, he decided he was done for the night. He wanted to get home and take Fenris with him.

Anders shifted his foot, rubbing his ankle gently against Fenris's, and Fenris glanced up from his cards. Their eyes met long enough for Anders to offer a tiny, suggestive smile and glance towards the door before Fenris looked away again as if nothing had happened, but Anders felt that they were on the same page here.

After the next round—which Fenris, the bastard, had the audacity to win despite Anders' attempts of diverting his attention—the elf pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, and announced he was done. Hawke spent a moment trying to wheedle him to stay, but Fenris was adamant.

Anders didn't join in as the others said their goodbyes to the elf.

He planned to tolerate two more rounds, but after the next one, he was already out of patience, his skin too tight and hot and his thoughts elsewhere.

"That's enough for me tonight," he said. "Time to cut my losses when I have coin left."

"It's still early," Hawke said.

"Maybe for you. _I'm_ going to have patients waiting for me once the sun is up, and I'd like to have some sleep before that."

"You sound like an old man, Blondie," Varric teased.

"Unlike you, I like to get my beauty sleep, and it shows," Anders shot back, tossing his head.

Varric laughed and, along with the others, bid him goodnight. With a wave of his hand, Anders walked out of the room, and then out of the Hanged Man.

Fenris was waiting at him by the door. Without a word, they turned to walk along the street, side by side. The evening was cool and clear, and the streets seemed quiet. Anders found himself feeling strangely safe beside Fenris. The elf must have been the most dangerous being on these streets, and with his massive sword strapped to his back, he looked like it. Not that Anders needed anyone protecting him—he'd been able to take care of himself for years—but it was nice to know that if someone was foolish enough think him an easy prey, Fenris would be there to help him prove them wrong.

They hadn't walked far before Fenris caught Anders by the front of his robes and dragged him into a narrow, dark alley.

"What are you—" Anders tried, but before he had the time to finish the sentence, he found himself pressed to the wall, Fenris's body trapping him in place, Fenris's lips hot and demanding on his. He did the only thing he could do and surrendered to the kiss, allowing Fenris to claim his mouth.

The first kiss was followed by another one, and then another, and another, until Anders lost count. He clung to Fenris's waist and kissed back, familiar need slowly rising inside him.

Fenris's mouth left his, trailing kisses over his jaw and to his neck, all soft lips and hot, slick tongue.

"Do you have a thing for this?" Anders asked. He could hear how breathy his voice sounded.

Fenris lifted his head and met Anders' eyes. One of his hands pushed a stray strand of hair behind Anders' ear. "A thing for what?"

"Pinning me to walls, elf. You keep doing it."

Fenris nuzzled his cheek. "I like you like this," he said. "You are so sweet, trapped there." He kissed Anders before he pulled back and went to open the clasps of his gauntlets.

"Wait!" Anders caught Fenris's wrist. "You better not be planning what I think you're planning, you deviant."

"And what, pray tell, do you think I am planning?"

"Doing something horrible to me against the wall!"

Fenris pulled his hand free from Anders's grasp. "Horrible? Not at all." He removed the first gauntlet and let it drop to the ground, the clang of metal loud in the night. "Something _pleasant_ , mage." The other gauntlet followed.

"That's worse!" Anders whined, as Fenris's bare hand burrowed into his clothing. "Someone's going to catch us, you _know_ I can't be that quiet!"

He noted that despite his—very reasonable—complaints, his traitorous body wasn't trying to push Fenris away. In fact, his hands were on Fenris's waist, pulling the elf closer, which probably made his protests ring rather hollow. Justice wasn't objecting either; quite the opposite.

Fenris leant close enough that his lips brushed Anders' neck. "I will keep you quiet," he said. It almost sounded like a threat.

"You can't—"

Fenris muffled his words with a hard, biting kiss. "I can."

His hand had already made its way inside Anders' smalls, and, no doubt surprising neither of them, found him hardening. Fenris licked around the shell of his ear.

"Are you going to let me? Say that you are," he whispered, the low words like a caress. "I want you so."

"Sod you." Aware that his objections had been all for show, Anders tilted his head back against the wall and gave up. "Fine. Do what you want with me."

"Thank you." Fenris kissed his ear, and then along his jawline. "I knew you would come to your senses."

"Sometimes I wish _you_ would come to your senses," Anders muttered, though his hands were dragging Fenris closer.

"If I came to my senses—" Fenris paused, suddenly still against Anders.

Anders pushed him back a bit to see his face. There was a strange, distant look in his eyes. Anders did not like it.

"Fenris?"

The elf shook his head as if to dispel whatever thought had caught him for a moment. "Nothing."

Anders may have insisted, but Fenris's hands were moving again, pushing Anders' trousers and smalls down, exposing him to the cool night air. Anders shivered and allowed himself to be distracted from the conversation, and Fenris pressed close again, breathing warm air against his neck as he brought their hips together. He was as hard as Anders was, and didn't waste a moment before working a hand between them and opening his own leggings, pushing them to his thighs along with his smalls.

The feel of the elf's naked hardness against his own had Anders gasping already, and then Fenris rolled his hips and wrapped a hand marked with that perfect lyrium around both of their lengths, and Anders groaned. Inside him, Justice's delight was warm and sweet, spreading through his veins like mulled wine. His hips thrust forward without his permission, and Fenris made a pleased sound and began to stroke them, slow at first, each movement perfect and delicious.

Anders widened his stance and gripped Fenris's hips, dragging the elf closer, and that made everything even better. Fenris hummed, tightening his grip around them, hand moving faster and warm fingertips swiping across where they were both leaking, spreading moisture.

"You—you're too good at this," Anders choked out. He knew his moans were picking up volume already, but there was nothing he could do about that as the pleasure coursed through his body.

"Hush," Fenris told him as a particularly sharp keen escaped his lips.

"You—you hush," Anders gasped. "I told— _ah_!—told you I can't keep quiet."

"Hm," Fenris said, his breath ghosting over the side of Anders' neck.

"This"—Anders paused to pant for a moment—"this wouldn't be a problem if you, if you weren't so, so damn—" He lost his trail of thought as Fenris's teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin below his ear.

Fenris pulled back a fraction and gave him a considering look, and without a warning, the elf's free hand covered Anders' mouth.

Anders felt his eyes widening as he moaned again, helpless to stop it, but this time Fenris's palm muffled the noise. Fenris met his gaze and gave him a smug half-smile, as if he knew exactly how hot Anders was finding this.

He probably did, the bastard.

The elf's hand working them together was ending each pull with a delicious twist of his wrist, his hips grinding against Anders' in time with his strokes, and there was nothing Anders could do but to cling to Fenris and take it, caught as he was between the elf and the wall. He was utterly helpless, at Fenris's mercy, and he wanted it to never end.

He still had the distant awareness that they were in public, not far from the street, and anyone who happened to look at their direction would see them, but it didn't matter. What mattered were Fenris's hands on him, Fenris's heated mouth on his skin, Fenris's body trapping him in place. If anyone saw, they would only envy him, for he had Fenris all for himself and they did not.

Each movement of Fenris's hips and hand was driving Anders closer to the edge, his body begging for release. Desperate for it, he whined, and Fenris laughed and kissed his jaw and then down his neck again. Sharp teeth scraped his skin, and Anders was defenceless against the knee-buckling waves of pleasure. He was breathing hard though his nose, dizzy with it, until a particularly perfect stroke of Fenris's hand made the pleasure crest. Anders cried out against Fenris's palm, his hips jerking and his entire body tense, hands clutching helplessly at the elf.

It seemed to take forever, and Fenris's hand didn't stop moving, working his release out of him until Anders was shaky with it. Fenris's weight pinning him to the wall was the only thing that kept him upright.

When Anders finally stopped shuddering and convulsing, Fenris lowered his hand from Anders' mouth and gripped his hip. A few more thrusts against him, and the elf stiffened, hips jerking as he buried his face in the feathers of Anders' coat. He was almost silent aside from his panting breaths against Anders' shoulder.

Anders held him close and stroked the back of his head and his neck with unsteady hands until he pulled back.

The look of satisfaction on his face was such a beautiful thing.

"Kiss me," Anders demanded.

Fenris did, his mouth sweet and warm against Anders'. He nuzzled Anders' cheek before he took half a step back and produced a scrap of cloth he used to wipe them both clean, his touch gentle on Anders' still oversensitive skin.

"Aren't you glad that you let me?" he asked as he stashed the soiled cloth to wherever he'd taken it from.

"You are _such_ a smug bastard," Anders complained, aware that his words lacked bite when his voice was still breathy and his face flushed.

Fenris's lip twitched before he kissed Anders again, clever fingers brushing his skin as the elf pulled Anders' smalls and trousers up and straightened his robes. "You wanted it."

"I always want it, and you know that and use it shamelessly against me. Your depravity knows no bounds."

That earned him another kiss, a longer, slower one this time. Fenris stayed close after their lips parted, looking at Anders with such warmth in his eyes that it made even the night around seem much less cold. One of his hands rose to comb through Anders' hair. "You like it."

Anders hummed. "Maybe." He nudged their noses together, and then leant to rest his forehead on Fenris's. The elf's steady breaths were warm against his skin, and Anders felt he could stay like this for a long while and be perfectly happy.

That wasn't exactly practical, so he didn't protest when Fenris pulled back and stepped away, bending to pick up his discarded gauntlets.

"So…" Anders hesitated, watching Fenris carefully. "Does this mean you won't come to my bed tonight? Since we're done and all."

Fenris, gauntlets held between his hands, paused and looked away. "I. Ah." He shifted on his feet and frowned at the ground. "I … sleep better with you. It seems I have gotten rather … used to having company in bed lately," he finally finished, not meeting Anders' eyes.

It was possible that Anders' heart skipped a beat. To avoid getting all _sentimental_ about it, he opted for humour.

"What you mean is, you've gotten used to sleeping on top of me, because apparently your own mattress just isn't comfortable enough."

Fenris glanced at him. "Something like that, yes."

"Well, come on then." Smiling, Anders turned to walk out of the alley, his steps light. "I'm getting cold out here and would very much like to use you as my blanket. You really are warm—it's one of your finer qualities."

With a soft snort, Fenris followed him.

They walked back to Anders' clinic side by side, so close that their arms kept brushing against each other. Whenever they did, neither of them pulled away, and Anders found he was still grinning.

In fact, he couldn't school the foolish smile out of his face before he fell asleep in his bed, warm and at ease with a naked Fenris curled around him.


	12. In Which Anders' Bad Day Ends With a Shocking Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some uncomfortable things are happening in this chapter. If you want warnings, reassurance, spoilers, please check the notes at the end of the chapter. The 'No Archive Warnings Apply' tag is still true, in any case, if that's enough for you.

Some days were not good.

Some others were bad.

Anders woke up to the sound of heavy rain, alone in his bed, still tired and a little cold, as he always was without Fenris there to keep him warm. With effort, he dragged himself up. The traces of the past night's nightmares lingered in his mind, like cold fingers sliding between his conscious thoughts, pushing them further away from each other, demanding attention.

Fenris wasn't the only one who slept better with company, but Anders couldn't expect the elf to come to his bed every night. Sometimes Fenris was busy and had more important things to do than, well, Anders, and all Anders could do was to accept that.

Still, sleeping alone made nights seem a lot darker and longer than they had to be, he thought as he began to put his clothes on. Fenris was like a steady fire burning in a hearth, spreading light and warmth around, and Anders didn't like it when he wasn't there. Neither did Justice, and the spirit's quiet yearning did nothing to improve Anders' mood.

His day didn't get better after he got to work.

He healed and mended and cleaned, and he offered words that could never ease the pain when there wasn't anything more he could do. The injuries and aches and illnesses kept coming, carried by new faces and familiar faces and faces changed by time and suffering, and more clearly than ever, he understood that his work would never be finished. There would always be someone new who had been hurt and broken, and he felt nothing he did could ever make a difference.

Justice wanted him to do something more about the other mages who needed him. Their cause was important, more so than anything else and Anders knew that, but at that moment, he wished the spirit gone with fervency that left Justice angry and bitter. What could he do? He was one man with a spirit against the Chantry and more templars than he could count. The weight of such responsibility was heavy on his shoulders, and seemed to grow heavier day by day, until eventually, it would crush him and Justice both. If there were solutions other than ones born out of desperate rage, Anders couldn't see them, and despite his demands, Justice had no more answers than Anders did.

The rain did not let up, the cold dampness of it seeping inside and making Anders wish he could curl up beside a fire where it was warm and dry, but he was too busy to even sit down between tending his patients.

The day dragged on and on until it seemed it would never end, and surrounded by his patients, Anders was lonely.

When the evening fell, damp like the day but much darker, he was still cold and alone and desperate for something better, something lighter, something _good_. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was useless and alone in the world and would, in the end, die alone too without doing a single thing that would matter when he was gone. He was helpless and useless, angry with himself and the entire world.

Justice was shifting inside him, restless and as frustrated as Anders was. Anders could still almost taste the spirit's bitterness towards him.

He stared at his empty clinic and could not deny the very human need to have someone listen to him, to be held tight by gentle hands and told beautiful lies about how everything would be fine one day.

There was no one who could do that for him, no one who deserved to have his useless worries and pains poured on them—no one who didn't have enough on their plate already. He couldn't impose his pointless suffering on others, not to that extent.

But there was still Fenris, who would not listen to him but who would kiss him and bend him over and take him, Fenris whose lyrium-laced touch could push all other thoughts out of his head and calm his restless, demanding spirit. And after, when he'd been satisfied, Fenris would lie down with him and hold him and be the warmth and light Anders so desperately needed.

That would have to be enough, Anders decided, and walked out into the heavy rain.

Fenris didn't seem surprised to find Anders at his door, dripping rainwater. The elf let him in and didn't ask what he wanted; what else could have he wanted but to be bedded, Anders thought, with some bitterness, as he followed Fenris into the elf's bedroom.

Fenris closed the door after them and pulled Anders close and kissed him, one hand cradling the back of his head as the other moved down his chest, undoing the fastenings of Anders' wet robes. The touch of his mouth on Anders' felt good, and Anders kissed him back and allowed himself to believe that coming to Fenris had been a good idea.

It didn't take long before all his clothes were in a pile on the floor where they would not dry before the morning, but Anders didn't care. Fenris's clothes joined them, and the elf pressed his naked body to Anders', arms tight around him. They kept kissing, Fenris's warmth sinking into Anders' chilled skin and easing Justice's agitation. Anders wished they could stay like this all night, just kissing, close without having to go any further.

Of course, that was not possible. They had a relationship based on mutual lust, and only after sating that, Anders could have the kind of tender embrace that demanded nothing more of him. When Fenris was done with him, the elf would wrap himself around Anders and hold him for the rest of the night, and that would make the sex he couldn't make himself want now worth it.

Fenris pulled back a fraction and gave him a searching look. "You are very quiet."

Anders shrugged. The look on Fenris's face shifted towards worry, and Anders didn't want that; he didn't want Fenris to stop and leave him cold and alone again.

He pulled Fenris close and kissed him, open-mouthed, licking at the elf's soft lips. Fenris kissed back, and to Anders' relief, soon took control of the kiss, hands stealing up to Anders' hair to keep him exactly where Fenris wanted him.

Any other time, a kiss like that would have been enough to make Anders achingly hard already, but now his body refused to respond, and if Fenris noticed that, he would stop and the day that had begun badly would end in pain and humiliation.

Anders couldn't allow that.

He turned towards he bed and pulled Fenris along with him. The elf followed willingly, climbing in after Anders, and Anders settled on the smooth sheets on his hands and knees and looked at Fenris over his shoulder.

"Take me like this," he said.

Fenris leant over and kissed his shoulder. "With pleasure." He knelt behind Anders, close enough to press against him, hard as steel.

Anders wished he could want it. He needed to lose himself in this and forget the rest of the world, needed to think of nothing else but Fenris's touch and his own pleasure.

It wasn't working that way. Fenris's hands on his skin were good and right and the elf's kisses felt like comfort, but the hardness digging into the back of Anders' thigh made him want to flinch away. He closed his eyes and told himself to accept it, to let it happen and wait for the moment when Fenris was inside him and his body had to react to the pleasure of it. It would feel good; he couldn't not be aroused with Fenris filling him, he promised himself.

Fenris's arms were tight around him, holding him, and that was what Anders wanted. He tried to focus on that and on the lips on the back of his neck, but then one of Fenris's hands trailed lower, over his belly, its objective clear. Anders tried to catch it, but he wasn't fast enough.

Slender fingers slipped between his legs, and found him soft.

Fenris pulled his hand away. "Mage?"

Anders shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't think of anything to say, a single way to explain. Fenris caught him by the hips and rolled him over onto his back, one hand cupping his cheek and thumb stroking gently across his skin. Anders forced his eyes open again.

"What is it?" Fenris asked, a look of something that could have passed for concern in his eyes.

Anders hated that. "Shut up. Just take me."

Fenris shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, supporting himself on one hand and half leaning over Anders. "I shall _not_."

"Fenris…" Anders tried to reach for the elf to pull him close, but Fenris caught his hand and gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"I have no interest in a partner who isn't enjoying himself."

That was like a bucket of cold water. Anders flinched and pulled his hand away from Fenris's grasp as he moved to sit up on the bed. Justice's disappointment was venom in his veins, but there was nothing he could do about that.

"Why did you come to me if you don't wish for my touch?" Fenris demanded.

"I do!" Anders tried helplessly. The elf's touch was all he wanted, and if it came with the price of being taken, Anders was willing to pay that. "Fenris, please, I want—"

"Do not lie to me," Fenris interrupted. He didn't sound irritated or disappointed, only concerned, but still, when he touched Anders' shoulder, too lightly, Anders flinched again. Fenris pulled his hand back.

"What's _wrong_?" he asked.

The look of worry in his eyes sparked something almost like anger inside Anders. Of course Fenris would be worried when he couldn't have Anders in good conscience; otherwise he would not give a damn.

Gathering the last shreds of his dignity, Anders pushed himself up, got out of the bed and reached for his clothes, wet and cold and heavy. "I shouldn't have come to you at all," he snarled.

"Yet you did." Fenris caught his wrist, the hold tight enough that it startled Anders into dropping his robes back to the floor. "I want my answers, mage."

Anders wanted to scream. "Forget it. I'm leaving, this was stupid, this was a mistake." He yanked his wrist free from Fenris's hold.

"I would like to know what's upsetting you." Fenris paused. "I would like to help."

Something in Anders' chest clenched, like a fist around his heart. The concern in Fenris's voice sounded nearly genuine in a way that made him feel sick.

"No, you would _not_. You just want to stick it in me without any moral qualms, and right now you can't and you hate that."

The silence that followed felt too large for the room. Anders turned his back to Fenris and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain in his chest. He wished he'd stayed home and wallowed in his misery alone until it passed, as it always did in the end.

"Is that what you believe?" Fenris asked finally. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

Anders didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. He was tired and angry and hurting, and he hated that Fenris could see it.

"I suppose I should have expected that," Fenris said quietly.

Anders didn't know what to make of that. He could hear Fenris shifting behind him, getting up from the bed, and waited for the elf to throw him out. It would be no more than what he deserved, to end up alone again, to lose this strange almost-friendship he'd built with Fenris. And not even over a proper fight; over his own stupid decision to come to Fenris when he should have stayed away.

Fenris caught him from behind, arms wrapping around his middle, pinning Anders' arms to his sides. Anders drew in a surprised breath and his body went rigid in the elf's hold.

"I will not let you go until you tell me what is wrong," Fenris stated against the back of Anders' neck, his voice as firm and steady as the arms around Anders, and free of the anger he had expected.

"In that case," Anders said before he could stop himself, "I'm never telling you."

Fenris's hold of him slackened, and Anders swallowed. Shit. He was about to yank himself free, grab his clothes and go hide in his clinic, possibly forever, when Fenris's arms tightened around him again, rendering any attempt of escape useless.

"If you refuse to talk"—the elf's words were soft—"I shall have to keep holding you until morning."

Anders was glad he managed to bite back the sound that threatened to crawl up his throat. With a shuddery sigh, he leant back into Fenris's embrace as if he'd fall apart without it, and Fenris hummed, his warm breath ghosting across Anders' shoulder blade. His hold of Anders stayed firm, as if he truly meant to keep Anders in his arms forever.

They stood there like that long enough that Anders started to feel the cold of the room seeping into his bones. Despite the heat of Fenris's body against his own, his skin was covered in goose bumps, and the stone floor was like ice under his feet. He couldn't suppress a shiver, and behind him, Fenris took a slow breath, and let go of him.

 _You promised to hold me until morning!_ he thought, desperate, his heart hammering in his chest. Fenris couldn't promise him exactly what he needed and then take it away.

He _couldn't_.

"Come to bed," Fenris's voice broke through Anders' rising panic. "You are cold, mage." One of his hands trailed down Anders' back, the touch firm and gentle and grounding.

Anders let out an uneven breath and turned around, his movements slow and hesitant. He didn't dare to meet Fenris's eyes as he crawled between the sheets after the elf, but Fenris didn't seem to mind. He pulled Anders close, into a tight, secure hold, and Anders sighed, burying his face in Fenris's neck. The elf stroked his hair and murmured quiet nonsense words into his ear, and a bit by bit, Anders could feel his heartbeat calming down again.

Slowly, very slowly, Justice's disappointment eased too, and after a while, Anders drifted into dreamless sleep, warm and safe cradled in Fenris's arms.

He woke up hours later, still curled up against Fenris. He was comfortable under the covers, his head resting over Fenris's steadily beating heart and the elf's slow, even breaths stirring the hairs on top of his head.

Outside, the moon was high up on the sky. It cast its silvery light on the bed and on Fenris and made his skin glow and turned his hair into brilliant white halo.

It was unfair how beautiful the elf was, and Anders couldn't resist touching him. With careful fingers, he traced along the lyrium brands on the arm Fenris had on top of the covers, following the intricate patterns.

A part of him felt guilty for adoring the markings so much. They had been embedded into his skin by man who'd dared to treat him as property and they had taken more away from the elf than they had given, and here Anders was, infatuated by the way they looked, the way they made his skin buzz and his mind go blank when Fenris lit them. They were beautiful and Fenris never hesitated to use them to his advantage, but they were a sign of his suffering as much as the scars Anders carried on his own skin, and maybe it was wrong to be so captivated by them.

Fenris murmured something in his sleep, and blinked his eyes open.

"Anders?" he asked, voice slow and sleepy, reaching for Anders' hand.

Anders tangled their fingers together. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

Fenris mumbled something that could have been, "it's fine," and pulled Anders closer, one hand rising to stroke his hair again. The touch felt better than it had any right to. Anders could have let Fenris do it forever.

Fenris kept petting his hair, and after a while, Anders realised neither of them was about to fall asleep again. He turned his head to look up, and found Fenris looking back at him, surprising warmth in his eyes.

He really had to kiss Fenris then.

The elf's mouth was soft and willing under his, the kiss slow and easy, and Anders couldn't help smiling when their lips finally parted. Fenris smiled back at him, one hand cupping the back of his head. Anders kissed Fenris again, and under the covers, he trailed his fingers down over the elf's flat belly, lower and lower.

Fenris broke the kiss and caught his wrist. "Wait. Wait." He gave Anders a careful look. "Are you sure about this?"

Anders couldn't find the words, but he was sure. He'd never been this sure of anything in his life. He nodded and buried his face in Fenris's neck.

"Do you truly want this now?" Fenris asked

Anders nodded again. He took hold of Fenris's wrist and guided the elf's hand to where he was hardening. Fenris's fingers tightened around him, and they both let out a relieved sound.

"All right," Fenris whispered. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and leant against the headboard of the bed, patting his lap. "Come here."

Anders crawled to straddle Fenris's thighs, and the elf pulled him close, arms tight around him. Fenris's skin was so very smooth against his own, like silk, and his eyes were gentle as he looked up at Anders. He was everything Anders had ever wanted, and Anders found it hard to believe that only a few short hours earlier, he had flinched away from Fenris's touch. Now the need burning in his veins was such a relief that it left him shaky.

With an unsteady hand, Anders reach out towards the nightstand and found the familiar bottle of oil by touch. He poured some on his palm and wrapped his slick fingers around Fenris. The elf was hard and hot under his touch, and the oil made the glide of his hand so easy that he almost wanted to do nothing but this until Fenris lost control. They were both breathing hard, and Fenris's lips were parted and eyes locked with Anders'. The firm grip of his hands on Anders's hips was grounding, like a promise to keep him close forever.

Fenris was shaking along with Anders when Anders finally lifted himself up and let go of Fenris's hardness to shift closer. Fenris cupped his cheek with one hand and gave him one those warm, soft looks that made his throat feel too tight, and then kissed him with gentleness that left his eyes prickling.

"I will take care of you," Fenris whispered, and guided Anders to lower himself down.

He filled Anders slowly, and Anders whined as he was spread open, the pleasure and burn of it the only feeling he could focus on. In a world where everything else could be broken and tainted and made ugly, this was good and right and beautiful. This felt as if it were meant to be: he and Fenris, bodies joined together, breathing the same air.

He was relieved that Fenris had not let him ruin it earlier by letting it happen when he had not wanted it.

By the time Fenris was completely inside him, Anders' thigs were trembling, sweat beading on his skin as the sweet ache of being so full spread though his body. He buried his face in Fenris's hair and let the familiar scent of it fill his lungs. Fenris was so warm that Anders felt as if he'd never be cold again if he could stay locked in this embrace until time itself ended.

With gentle hands, Fenris stroked his back. The elf's breath was steady against Anders's collarbones, and Anders tried to time his own breathing with it until it felt as if they were one being, inseparable. He knew he should move, his body quivering with the need of it, but he couldn't make his muscles to obey.

Fenris's hands slid up to his shoulders and pushed him back so that their eyes could meet. "Will you tell me now what was upsetting you?"

He looked sincere, as if he truly wanted to know, and Anders found himself believing that he did.

"Just … a bad day. I just … couldn't stand being alone." His gaze dropped to Fenris's chest. "I wanted closeness, I guess. To—to forget, for a moment. To be held." He shrugged, aware that it was far from enough but unable to explain any better. He didn't want to talk now; he wanted Fenris.

Fenris cupped his cheek, a thumb stroking across his stubble. "And you came to me." His other hand rose to brush across Anders' brow.

Anders could feel heat climbing up his neck. "I, uh, yes, I suppose I did."

Smiling, Fenris pressed a kiss on his lips. "I'm glad." His hands fell to Anders' waist and gripped him tight. "Would you like to…?"

"Oh." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the heat of blush creeping up to his cheeks. "Yeah, sorry."

"Do not be."

Anders moved, little rolls of his hips at first, allowing his body to do what it wanted. The pleasure of it was slow and sweet, radiating through him from where they were connected, and the touch of Fenris's hands was steady and calming and exactly what he needed. This was so familiar now, being with Fenris, that it was almost unbelievable that not long ago, there had only been hatred and Anders' forbidden lust between them.

He let himself move faster, taking Fenris all the way into his body. Fenris was breathing hard, eyes locked with Anders', his hands never leaving Anders' skin. The heat in the elf's gaze was almost too much, and Anders buried his face back into the white hair to escape the intensity of it. He wrapped his shaking arms around Fenris's neck so that they were pressed as close together as two beings could ever be, his aching hardness trapped between their bodies, sliding easily against Fenris's sweat-slick belly. One of Fenris's hands rose to stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair.

"You feel so good," Fenris whispered, like a secret between them, and Anders shivered.

He didn't want this to end. He wanted to hold Fenris and be held all night and long after the sunrise, give and take pleasure with each rise and fall of his hips until the rest of the world didn't matter anymore. He wanted Fenris like this, kind and gentle and full of desire for him, only ever for him.

The bliss of Fenris's hands on him, of the feel Fenris hard inside him was overwhelming him. "Touch me," Anders gasped, his fingers clenching against Fenris's skin, the movements of his hips desperate now.

Fenris kissed his neck and worked a hand between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around Anders' hardness. The elf stroked him in time with the grind of Anders' hips as his other hand travelled down Anders' spine to touch him where they were connected.

Anders was so close he could barely see anymore. His eyes burned and his throat was too tight, and he was aware he was trembling and making helpless little noises as he clutched at Fenris's shoulders.

Lyrium flared and filled Anders with its searing heat. With a weak cry, he buried his face in Fenris's neck as the elf's hand on him made the pressure spill over and left him gasping against the soft, glowing skin.

Fenris's arm tightened around him, crushing him to the elf's heaving chest. He could feel the faint warmth of Fenris's release inside him as the waves of his own pleasure subsided.

Neither of them moved for a long while after that, their panting breaths the only sound in the room. Anders was still lost in Fenris's touch when he eventually forced himself to lift his head, his entire body heavy and satisfied. Fenris looked up at him, the corner of his pretty mouth curled up and the earlier gentle warmth lingering in the depths of his eyes.

At that moment, he was the most beautiful thing Anders had even seen, and with his heart stuttering in his chest, Anders realised he'd done something unforgivably stupid.

He had fallen in love with Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: dub-con sex seems to be about to happen and there's some serious discomfort because of that, but in the end the sex happens later and is fully consensual.


	13. In Which Anders Tries to Come to Terms With His Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the midpoint of this fic, so I'd like to take a moment to thank you, dear readers. Thank you for the bookmarks, for the subscriptions, the kudos (which some of you have clearly been leaving more than one, much appreciated!) and especially for the comments. Thank you 🧡

Anders had trouble keeping his attention on his patients, and yet again, it was all Fenris's fault. He did his best to concentrate, but his mind kept wandering back to the elf, and this time, it was even worse than before, when he'd only wanted the lyrium.

Damn it.

He'd refused the breakfast Fenris had offered him that morning. Fenris had not been pleased, but he'd accepted Anders' excuses, kissed him goodbye so gently that Anders had almost panicked, and allowed him to go. Anders had struggled not to run out before he had the chance to say something stupid.

The shock of his realisation had kept him awake for most of the night, and now the lack of sleep made his eyes burn. Twice, he almost gave a patient the wrong potion because he was so tired and his thoughts were elsewhere.

It was hard to believe that even he could have been such an idiot. _Fenris_ , of all beings! He could have picked any other of their companions, and it would have been a thousand times better. Anyone else would have at least let him down with some degree of gentleness, instead of very literally taking his sad, used heart if he dared to offer it.

They had become much closer over the past weeks, but that didn't change the fact that Fenris hated mages. Sure, in addition to their shared lust, the elf seemed to have developed some sort of fondness towards Anders and was capable of touching him gently and offering care, more so than Anders had ever thought possible, but that was far from what Anders was feeling himself. Friendship he could imagine, given enough time; love was a different matter.

Love was for idealists, for the young and the reckless, not for beings like Fenris and Anders who knew better than to think the wrongs of the world could be fixed with a few silly words. It was useless and led to nothing but pain, and Anders did not need it in his life.

_Just don't think about it for now_ , he told himself as he let his magic heal another wound, the damaged skin stitching itself together under his hand. _Think about something else, like the work you're supposed to be doing, you stupid idiot. It'll go away if you don't think about it._

That went about as well as expected. The harder Anders tried to think of something—anything—else, the more his thoughts seemed to be drawn to Fenris. Sometimes he realised he hadn't though Fenris for a while, and just like that, the awful, wonderful ache of it was back.

A part of him wanted to go to Fenris and sort out his messy thoughts with the elf lying in his arms, but that was a terrible idea. Having Fenris that close would be a distraction, and in the end, all that lyrium pressed to his skin would probably addle him enough that he'd—well, he'd do something he would regret. Open his mouth and say things it was possible he meant but should not.

He'd already been stupider than he could afford, from the very moment he'd kissed Fenris for the first time. There was no need to take that any further.

Justice had been quiet after Anders' realisation. The spirit didn't disapprove, but other than that, Anders couldn't tell what he was thinking. Did Justice have feelings for Fenris too? He didn't have a heart he could hand to the elf, so he should have been safe. He'd been eager to share Fenris's touches and the lyrium with Anders, but anything beyond that? It had to be a weakness of the mortal flesh.

The deep silence that was Justice's only answer to Anders' thoughts seemed to suggest that maybe the spirit wasn't completely immune to such things anyway. It was a scant comfort, but if that was the case, then at least Anders wasn't the only fool.

He shook his head and once again, tried to drag his attention back to the things that mattered. There were bruises and cuts and coughs he needed to heal and words of comfort he needed to say. He could deal with his own mess of a heart later.

When the evening fell, Anders realised he should have dealt with his heart a lot sooner. His clinic was empty of patients and Fenris could be at his door at any moment, and there he was, _in love_ with the blighted elf.

He cursed out loud, the words echoing in the silence around him.

He couldn't sleep with Fenris that night. If Fenris touched him, if Fenris kissed him and took him, he couldn't keep his foolish heart hidden. It would force words neither of them wanted out of his mouth and ruin everything they had more surely than any fight, no matter how vicious.

Staying home wasn't an option. He could bolt the door and pretend he wasn't there, but if Fenris knocked and called for him, he wouldn't be able to stay away. He would open the door and allow the elf in, despite knowing how bad it was for him at the moment. He wanted Fenris too much to resist that voice and the endless call of the lyrium.

He couldn't go to the Hanged Man either; Fenris would most likely end up there if he didn't find Anders at his clinic, and then everyone would bear witness to his useless feelings. Even if he could keep his mouth shut, the usual banter and teasing could take a dangerous turn. There were jokes Anders wouldn't be able to handle without revealing his heart, not now, and one mistake could be enough to make Fenris murder him on the spot. Even Hawke's presence couldn't stop that.

The only option seemed to be going out and hiding somewhere. It wasn't exactly safe to wander the streets alone at night, but in this state, being near Fenris would be far more dangerous.

His hands shaking, Anders grabbed his coat and staff and slipped out, locking the clinic door behind him. As he hurried down the street, glancing furtively around in a way that no doubt made him look suspicious even by Darktown standards, he wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when Justice didn't protest. He was running away, but the spirit seemed to be fine with it.

Justice had to understand what a danger facing Fenris could be now. They both needed time to calm down before they could be back to their normal behaviour around the elf again.

Assuming, of course, that they could ever do that. Anders wasn't sure that was possible when the sheer thought of Fenris made his pulse pick up and palms sweat as if he were terrified.

He _was_ terrified, Justice pointed out—the first thing the spirit had said to him all day.

Anders wished he'd kept silent.

Maker, his head and heart and his spirit were all a mess because of one stupid, broody, pretty elf. Life was not fair.

Anders wandered around without aim for hours, staying away from places where he felt Fenris was likely to be. He kept to narrow, dark alleys of Lowtown and didn't stop walking, all the while praying that he didn't look enough like a victim for someone to try to steal the little coin he had, or his life. The last thing he needed was a useless fight that would only draw attention to him and most likely lead to having to hide from Templars in addition to Fenris.

Long past midnight, when he was certain that Fenris would be back home and not come to him anymore, he finally returned to his darkened clinic. Shaky with exhaustion and emotion, he curled into his bed, but sleep eluded him.

Perhaps that should have not been a surprise.

He lay on his back for hours, thoughts running around in circles inside his head. There were so many reasons to avoid any special feelings towards Fenris.

Fenris and he had been enemies for so long. Fenris had serious issues with mages and magic, and the elf's hatred was ice and fire, both of which could destroy a man, as Anders well knew. Fenris was brilliant in bed, exactly what Anders needed, but he was angry and distrustful and dangerous. He was just as damaged as Anders was too, and Anders had lived long enough to know that two damaged things never created one whole.

Damaged things had the habit of damaging each other further, poking tender places with their jagged edges and colliding with each other until hairline fractures became deep cracks. No amount of love could change that or fix the harm done. Not even mutual love, and his was very much one-sided.

He pulled the covers tighter around himself, cold in his lonely bed. Fenris could never love a mage. He may have been willing—eager, almost—to bed one, but he was too full of hate and bitterness to have feelings for Anders. Anders was not Danarius, but his magic was a constant reminder of the past that had made Fenris what he was now. That was not a solid foundation for anything permanent.

The best Anders could do would be taking these feelings and sealing them away somewhere deep and dark where they could never surface again. That was the only way to keep Fenris in his life.

There was no comfort in that thought, but at least Anders had a course of action. He had known Fenris for years without loving the elf, and he could learn to do that again. If he took his time, if he made the effort, he could get over his stupid feelings, and if Justice truly was a fool enough to share them with him, the spirit would have to follow his example.

That would leave both Anders and his fragile relationship with Fenris undamaged.

His decision made, Anders finally fell into fitful sleep.

Anders woke up, and for several blissful heartbeats, he was calm and comfortable, if still more tired than he would have liked. He blinked at the high ceiling above him and stretched—

—and reality crashed on him with the force of a gauntleted fist to the face.

_Fenris._ He was head over heels in love with Fenris.

_You were supposed to stop that_ , he told himself as he struggled out of his bed. _Back to being sort-of-friends with benefits now, Anders. No deep feelings, no pining after the pretty bastard. Just some great sex with no strings attached._

He almost laughed at himself as he splashed cold water on his face to clear his head. He could give some damn good advice, but he knew he was terrible at following it.

For a brief moment, he wondered if there was a spell to make someone fall out of love.

He would have paid good coin for that kind of spell.

Focusing on his work went a little better than it had the previous day. Anders had long bouts of not thinking at Fenris at all, times when he didn't keep glancing at the door, worried and on some deep level almost hopeful that the elf would suddenly appear.

There were also more than enough moments when he couldn't think about anything but Fenris, his heart aching to be with the elf, but somehow, he always got over that and kept working.

Somewhere around midday, he realised he couldn't hide behind his patients all day; he needed supplies, and if he wanted them, he had to go buy them. The risk of running into Fenris when he was outside was a minimal one, he told himself. He'd be fine.

When there was a lull in patients, he closed his clinic and headed to Lowtown to the market.

As he walked between the stalls and tried to remember what it was that he'd come to buy, Anders did his best to look normal and relaxed while keeping a keen eye on his surroundings. He had to spot Fenris before the elf spotted him, if he happened to be somewhere around. Unlikely as that was, Anders wasn't going to take any risks. He needed to be ready to disappear into the crowd at the first glimpse of pale hair and near-permanent scowl.

He was so focused on avoiding Fenris that he didn't notice Isabela before he walked straight into her. She made a surprised noise, and Anders took a quick step back to avoid treading on her toes.

"Sorry," Anders said, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Well," she said, her beautiful mouth curving into a smile. "There are worse things than running into a pretty apostate."

Anders tried to smile back, but it wasn't working too well. She gave him a penetrating look.

"Bad day?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm fine."

She seemed to consider this, and Anders hoped she would drop the subject. She wasn't the type to stick her nose to other people's business, after all.

"No," she said, finally. "You look sad."

"It's just my face," Anders tried. "This is how I always look. All right?"

"No." Isabela shook her head. "That's not it." She gave him a playful little nudge on the arm. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were in love."

Anders flinched. He didn't mean to, but it happened, and her eyes widened and mouth fell open.

"You're in love!"

Panic welled up in Anders' chest, his skin breaking out in a cold, nervous sweat. Justice was suddenly very close to surface. "No I'm not!"

Was it _that_ obvious, he thought. And if it was, how long it would take for Fenris to figure it out and murder him for daring to feel things he had no right whatsoever to feel? He'd been worried about saying something wrong, but it seemed it was much worse; a good look on his face could reveal his heart without him even having to open his mouth.

"You are!" Her hand rose to her mouth for a moment as she stared at him, surprise and something almost like pity written all over her face. "Oh, _Anders_ , you stupid, stupid fool."

"Shut up." She was right and he was stupid, but he was not going to admit that to her. "It's not—it's not serious, all right?"

"Not serious?" Isabela put her hands on her hips. "It's always serious. And stupid." She paused to give him a long, careful look. "So, who is it?"

Anders sighed. "Listen. It's not—I can't—it's complicated, okay? It's possible I may be feeling certain things for … certain someone, whose name is none of anyone else's business, but it's not… Just don't tell anyone, please?"

She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "Where's the fun in that? Come on, tell me, do I know them? Who's the lucky lady, or the lucky gentleman?"

"Don't pry," Anders told her. He shifted on his feet and glanced around. It was dangerous to stand still. With enough bad luck, Fenris could be somewhere here, could spot him, could insist on talking to him, and Isabela would figure out who his 'lucky gentleman' was immediately. She was shrewd, especially when it came to matters like this.

"You're no fun," Isabela said. "Give me a hint, at least."

"No. I need more time." A lot more time. A lifetime, at least. A few centuries, possibly. "If things ever get less complicated, then maybe. All right?"

She gave him a displeased look. "You're out of the market and you're denying me the joy of teasing you about it. Not fair, Anders."

"Sorry." He tried for a smile, but it felt weak. "Just don't go telling anyone for now? Please."

"All right," she agreed, though her reluctance and displeasure were still clear. "But I'm very disappointed."

"I know. You've got the first dibs on teasing me if things change, how's that?" He didn't think that was going to happen, but promising her could do no harm.

She smiled and gave him a light pat on the cheek. "Deal. Good luck, then, darling."

"Thanks."

Anders was going to need all the luck he could get. Unfortunately, he wasn't usually drowning in it, but maybe the little bit Isabela wished for him would help.

Anders brought home his shopping without further incident and worked hard for the rest of the evening, but it was still early when his last patients were gone, and he found himself restless.

_You're in love!_ Isabela's words rang inside his head. Yes he was, damn it, and trying not to be was making no difference.

Neither was staying away from Fenris.

He missed the elf so much. He wanted to go to Fenris, the consequences be damned. He wanted to see Fenris and feel his touch, to hear his voice and be with him, but if he did, so much could go wrong. He could lose everything he had gained. One wrong word was all it would take, and Anders was bad at holding his tongue.

Maker, one look on his stupid _face_ could give it all away, he reminded himself. Fenris could see his feelings in his eyes, as clear and bright as the blue light of Justice.

Yet hiding away in his clinic was dangerous too. If Anders kept avoiding Fenris long enough, the elf would eventually become suspicious and come to ask questions. Anders needed to act normal, and the most normal thing was sleeping with Fenris. If he went to Fenris now, he would be prepared, he reasoned; that was much better than letting the elf surprise him.

He expected Justice to tell him he was making excuses, but the spirit said nothing.

It was a senseless risk—Justice agreed with that, at least—but in the end, Anders decided he was done hiding.


	14. In Which Anders Doesn't Say Anything Stupid

Anders washed himself quickly, got dressed again and then, with his hair untied and still damp, he found himself almost running across the city up to Hightown. He had to tell himself to calm down and walk like a normal person to keep from attracting unwanted attention, and to avoid arriving to Fenris's doorstep all sweaty and panting. He was eager, yes, but there was no point in making it that obvious. It was bad enough that he was in love; he didn't have to seem desperate too.

He made it to the door of Fenris's mansion without doubt rearing its ugly head, but there, with his hand raised to knock, Anders hesitated. What if this was a mistake? What if he would ruin everything?

What if Fenris took one look at him and threw him out for having the audacity to think he had any right to love the elf?

Justice told him to knock since he'd come this far already.

Anders took a deep breath that failed to be in any way calming, and rapped the door with his knuckles.

It seemed he waited there for a long while, long enough to make the doubts whisper louder and louder in the back of his mind, but finally, with a faint creak of old hinges, the door opened.

"Hi," Anders said, and tried to keep his face neutral.

Fenris blinked at him. "Oh." He looked surprised and, just long enough for Anders to read his expression, delighted. "Hello, Anders."

The faint smile he offered as he opened the door wider was enough to make Anders' knees feel weak. He was never going to be able to stop loving the beautiful bastard, he thought as he stepped inside past Fenris. The elf only needed to look at him the right way, or, Maker, _say his name_ like that, and he was lost.

The door had hardly time to close behind him before Fenris pulled him close and kissed him, as eager for Anders as Anders was for him. Anders wrapped his arms around the elf's narrow waist, and Fenris moaned faintly into his mouth and gave his lower lip a gentle bite.

It felt good to be wanted like this. Unlike his own desire, Fenris's had nothing to do with any useless feelings, but there was still comfort in it. Anders had the right to crave for Fenris's touch, at least, because the elf craved his just as much.

Fenris slid his fingers through the still-damp strands of Anders' hair, pushing it off his face. "You left in such hurry last time." He nuzzled Anders' cheek. "Everything taken care of?"

Anders nodded. He couldn't remember what excuse he'd used when he'd rushed out, and hoped Fenris wouldn't ask any more questions.

The elf didn't. "Good," he said instead. "I am glad you are back. Would you like to…?" With one hand, he made a vague gesture that was probably intended to mean _have sex with me_.

"Yes, I would like to," Anders answered. "That's kind of why I'm here."

"Are you sure?" Fenris fingers brushed down his cheek, the touch whisper-soft, before settling to rest on the back of Anders' neck.

He was being _careful_. Anders hated that.

"I'm sure." He tightened his hold on Fenris's waist and pulled the elf a fraction closer. "I want you." With Fenris's body pressed to his and hands touching him, he was already getting hard, and he let the evidence of his arousal press against Fenris's hip.

Relief obvious on his face, Fenris gave him another kiss, this one a little harder, more purposeful, and caught his hand in his own to drag him towards the bedroom.

Their clothes ended up on the floor before they tumbled down into the bed, Anders on his back with Fenris on top of him, kissing him as if he never intended to stop. The elf's tongue claimed Anders' mouth with intensity that left him breathless, and, fortunately, made him unable to say the words that threatened to claw their way out of his mouth. Fenris's hands were gentle on his skin, trailing up and down his arms and stroking his chest and sides.

"You are tense." Fenris pulled back and gave him a searching look. There was hesitancy in his touch as he slipped his fingers into Anders' hair. "Why are you so tense, mage?"

Anders did his best to relax.

"A tough day at the clinic." He reached out to cup Fenris's cheek. "But you know exactly how to drive all that tension out of me, don't you, elf?"

Fenris pursed his lips. He looked as if he was trying to keep a smile off his face, and Anders couldn't resist running his thumb over the elf's lips.

"I may have a few ideas," Fenris admitted. "If you're sure—"

He was _still_ being careful. All right then, Anders thought, this was something he actually needed to address. He shifted his hand to cradle the back of the elf's head.

"Fenris. Listen. I'm here because I want this. I won't fake a damn thing for you anymore, I promise." Which, strictly speaking, wasn't true—he was very much faking not being in love, but that didn't count. For reasons. "All right?"

Fenris didn't say anything for a while. His eyes searched Anders', and Anders wanted to turn his face away and hide, certain that instead of the answers Fenris was looking for, the elf would see his heart. The only thing that kept him looking back at Fenris was the knowledge that anything else would seem more suspicious. He continued to breathe as steadily as he could and forced his gaze to stay locked with Fenris's, and hoped he was portraying calm reassurance instead of desperate love.

Finally, after many long, terrifying moments had ticked past, Fenris nodded.

"All right," the elf said.

Anders felt some of the tension leave his body. "Good. Now I want to experience unbearable pleasure in your hands. Got that?"

This time, Fenris did smile, the pressure of his hand on Anders' skin getting heavier, surer. "I got that."

"Good." Anders used the hand on the back of the elf's head to drag him down into hard kiss, and once their mouths parted, rolled over to his belly. He probably should have let Fenris have him on his back, considering their last time, but he knew he couldn't afford to do that. He had to be able to hide his face and bite the pillow if unwanted words threatened to make an appearance. He'd taken enough risks tonight, and now it was time to play it safe.

Fortunately, Fenris didn't question his choice, only nudged Anders' thighs apart and knelt between them, hands resting on his waist. Anders glanced over his shoulder, and Fenris met his eyes. A wicked little smile curved the corner of the elf's mouth.

"You're planning something," Anders said.

Fenris made an agreeing little noise.

"Something good," Anders continued, a delightful little shiver of anticipation running through his body.

"I would hope so." Fenris shifted backwards on the bed, his hands sliding to rest on the curve of Anders's behind. The elf leant down and parted Anders' buttocks, and Anders could feel the elf's breath on the sensitive skin between them.

"Would you let me—"

"Yes," Anders interrupted. "Yes, _please_."

Fenris made an amused little noise, and then hot, slick tongue touched Anders, so light and gentle it almost tickled. Anders cursed and buried his face into the pillow.

Fenris licked him again, with a little more pressure this time, and oh, that was more than good.

And it only got better. Fenris's tongue was unfairly skilled as the elf kept licking at him, back and forth and in little circles, and Anders could feel saliva trickling down his skin. He spread his legs wider, and Fenris hummed against his skin, sounding pleased as his tongue worked Anders.

"Maker, that's—" Fenris's tongue pushed _in_ , and Anders' words broke into a garbled cry. "More," he managed to choke out. "Give me—"

Without hesitation, Fenris did. There were more licks, around and around and then into him, and a hint of teeth Anders definitely should have expected. He hid his face into the pillow again and lifted his hips, body begging for more without words.

Fenris gave him more still, that perfect mouth and agile tongue doing unspeakable things to him until Anders' toes were curling with the pleasure of it. He was making helpless noises into the pillow, and every single one of them seemed to spur Fenris on, the touch of his tongue getting rougher, the hands keeping him open gripping tighter.

It was amazing, but it was far from enough. Anders needed to feel the connection of Fenris pushing into him and taking him.

He lifted his head from the pillow and struggled to form words. "Please, I want you inside," he panted. "Fenris, please."

With one final lick, Fenris lifted his head and pressed a kiss on Anders' lower back. "Of course."

He reached for the familiar bottle of oil before rolling Anders to lie on his side and settling behind him, pressed against his back. With one hand, Fenris gripped Anders' thigh and guided it up, opening Anders for him. Anders clutched at the sheets with both hands, his body tense with need.

Slick fingers pushed into him, slow but unrelenting, and Anders let out a long sigh.

"Your body is so willing," Fenris whispered against the back of his neck.

"As if that's any sort of surprise. Maker, it feels so good when you do that."

"It feels good to be inside you." He kissed Anders' shoulder. "I could do this forever, spend the rest of my life pleasing you with my fingers." Those fingers twisted, rubbed, each touch confident and flawless, and Anders was seeing stars.

"You can," he whispered, delirious with it. "I would let you."

 _I love you_ , he thought, helpless to stop it. He was glad he was facing away from Fenris so the elf couldn't see that thought reflected in his eyes.

Fenris hummed and kissed his shoulder again, the fingers inside him pushing deeper, a little harder. "How sweet you are, mage." He nuzzled Anders' hair. "How perfect for me."

He needed to stop saying things like that. They didn't mean anything, of course, they were just sex-talk, but they almost sounded like love, and that wasn't making it any easier for Anders to kill his unwanted, unneeded feelings.

He turned his head to bury his face into the pillow. "Take me," he mumbled before Fenris had a chance to say something else that made his stupid mouth want to speak out of turn. "Just … take me already."

With a soft hum, Fenris pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. Anders found himself whining at the loss, despite knowing that this would only get better.

Fenris shifted closer, one hand gripping Anders' bent knee while the other held on to Anders' shoulder to keep him exactly where the elf wanted. Anders held his breath, waiting, waiting, and then Fenris brushed against him before breaching him so slowly that Anders thought he couldn't bear it. He ached for more, but with Fenris's hands clutching at him the way they were, he could not move an inch. All he could do was to cling to the sheets and let it happen.

It seemed to take forever, but finally, Fenris was all the way inside him. Anders shivered with the pleasure of it, and Fenris sighed softly, his warm breath ghosting over the back of Anders' neck. His entire body was pressed against Anders, as close as it was possible to be.

Fenris held himself still inside Anders for a long moment, and Anders waited, hardly breathing, tense and shaking with the force of his desire. Sure that he would die if Fenris didn't give it to him, he opened his mouth, ready to beg if that was what the elf wanted from him, but all he could choke out was Fenris's name.

That seemed to be what Fenris had been waiting for.

The first thrust the elf gave him was slow and gentle, the angle just right to make Anders shudder and whine. He detangled one hand from the sheets and clutched at Fenris's wrist holding his knee instead as the elf filled him again, and Fenris made a pleased noise. The position they were in only allowed limited movement, but it didn't matter. Being held and having Fenris inside him was all he wanted. As good as being pounded into the mattress could be, right then Anders craved only for the connection and the closeness of the act, nothing else.

Fenris worked one arm under his side until he could rest a hand on Anders' chest, over his heart, and kept taking him slowly, holding him tight. Anders let himself to be lost in it, clinging to the sheets and to Fenris. The elf pressed kisses on Anders' shoulder and on the back of his neck, all soft lips and the faintest trace of sharp teeth, and Anders squeezed his eye shut and bit his lip to keep unwanted words tumbling out of his mouth.

His hold tightening around Anders, Fenris lit up the lyrium, and Anders cried out, high and sharp and unable to stop it. He was surrounded by it; it was everywhere, all over him and running through his body like a current, breaking him apart and pulling him together. He could never get enough of it.

He could never get enough of Fenris. Even when he was lost in the haze of lyrium, the elf's slow thrusts were sending sparks of their own kind of ecstasy through his body. His mind was blank, and inside his head, Justice was as lost in desire as he was. He could only pray that his own body could give Fenris half the pleasure he was getting from the elf.

Fenris let go of his knee and cupped his cheek with a glowing hand. "Tell me how it feels."

 _Like falling_ , Anders thought hazily, _like flying_.

"It's—it's electricity," he got out. His fingers tightened around the wrist of the hand touching his face. "Heat and fire. It burns like nothing else. It's … good."

"Is it?" The hand travelled down his neck, spreading the maddening pleasure.

 _Smug bastard._ "Yeah. Yes. When you touch me, I can feel it sinking into my skin. It—it mixes with my blood and my magic and I feel—I feel _alive_. Nothing else has ever made me feel the way— _oh, Maker_ —the way your touch does."

Fenris hummed against the back of his neck. His glowing hand settled over Anders' heart, next to the other one keeping him still, and Anders shivered. Justice was close to surface, eager to feel the lyrium, eager to feel Fenris, and Anders closed his eyes and tried to stay in control.

"And what if I do this?" The hand slid down, and without a warning, wrapped around his aching hardness.

Anders shrieked, clenching around Fenris, fingers digging into the elf's wrist. He was already so close, the lyrium everywhere, on him and in his bloodstream, destroying any shred of restraint he'd ever had. _I love you_ , he thought, but his mouth couldn't form the words anymore.

"That was not particularly informative." Fenris sounded infuriatingly self-satisfied, and the glowing hand gave Anders a lazy stroke.

"I hate you," Anders choked out, but it wasn't what he meant.

"Not an answer, mage."

"It's too much. Not enough. I don't know, Fenris, I—I don't have the words, I—"

Another slow stroke took away his ability to speak again—which, no doubt, was only a good thing—and Fenris's lips pressed against the back of his neck.

"How about this?" The hand let go of him—Anders whined—and travelled backwards, where they were connected, but this time, Fenris didn't settle for tracing Anders' slick opening. One finger pushed _in_ , all the way, taking the ache of the lyrium into where Anders was already stretched wide, and Anders lost it.

Everything drowned in lyrium-blue, Justice-blue, and Anders let out a weak cry as his orgasm robbed the air from his lungs and made the world around him explode in white little sparks.

It took him a long while to come down from the heights he'd climbed, and that was fine. Fenris was warm and solid sleeping in his arms, and Anders would have happily floated in the afterglow for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, maybe, as long as Fenris was there with him. Justice was silent and satisfied, and Anders' mind was empty of everything that wasn't Fenris, and that seemed to be exactly what he needed.

Reality did get a grip on him eventually, but since Fenris was still there in his arms, breathing warm puffs of air against his chest, Anders didn't mind much.

He'd survived sex with Fenris without blurting out anything stupid. That was good. Of course, he was still feeling the same thing, even stronger than before now, and that was definitely not good.

Maker, he was a mess.

With an unsteady hand, he pushed silky strands of hair out of Fenris's forehead. The elf didn't stir. He trusted Anders enough to sleep so deeply right next to him, to be vulnerable in the presence of a _mage_ , and such trust was frightening. It was one argument against so many of the reasons Anders had for not loving Fenris, and he did not need that any more than he needed this love.

"Stop," he whispered, hoping that hearing the word would make it more convincing. He couldn't afford to acknowledge anything that supported his feelings. He needed to kill his love, squash it like a bug before it grew too strong to be destroyed.

With obvious bitterness, Justice told him he should have done that long time ago.

Anders refused to listen to him. He could still save himself, he promised.

He could.


	15. In Which Fenris Is Very Kind, and Anders Decides Love May Not Be So Bad

Anders hadn't dared to refuse the breakfast Fenris offered this time; that could have looked suspicious, and he wanted to avoid suspicion by any means possible.

It was still odd to find himself sitting at Fenris's table and sharing his food. Anders had seen the elf eat plenty of times, but a part of him had always been convinced that Fenris sustained on wine and barely controlled fury. Watching him eat breakfast on almost regular basis, all normal like any other being, was more disconcerting than he would have thought.

This morning, there were small honey cakes, sweet and golden brown. They may have been the most delicious thing Anders had eaten in weeks, and he'd already had three, while Fenris was nibbling at his first one, eyes focused on Anders across the table.

"You're watching me eat," Anders pointed out as he licked crumbs from his fingers. He had been hungry, and as dangerous as staying with Fenris was for him, he was thankful for the food.

Fenris shrugged one shoulder. He was only wearing his tunic, none of his metal and leather armour, and each of his movements drew Anders' attention to his bare arms, all smooth skin and sleek muscle marked with lyrium.

"You know that's _weird_ , right?" he continued.

Another shrug, with both shoulders this time. He really had nice arms. Nice shoulders too. Nice everything, except for the few glaring flaws in his personality and attitudes, especially towards mages. Anders should have focused on those—surely they were enough to show him reason and prove what a terrible, awful idea loving the elf was.

"One could imagine you're trying to fatten me up," Anders teased as he tried not to stare. "Do you get off on feeding me?"

Fenris's gaze slid away. He didn't take Anders's bait. "You are very thin, mage. You do not take good care of yourself."

"I'm fine."

Fenris met his eyes briefly. "I am sure," he said, but his tone suggested he wasn't convinced. He nodded towards the remaining cake on the table as he finished his own. "Eat."

For a moment, Anders was torn between taking the cake and refusing it, just to be contrary. In the end, his stomach won his brief internal battle, and he picked up the cake and bit into it. He would have never admitted it out loud, but he did like that Fenris appeared to be taking care of him. It made it seem possible that the elf could love him.

Which shouldn't have mattered, because Anders was going to stop being in love with Fenris any moment now. Right.

He took care the cake and looked up to find Fenris still watching him. The elf didn't make any sort of move to start emptying the table and didn't look as if he was in a hurry to see Anders leave yet either, only offered Anders a faint smile. Anders smiled back.

He knew he should get up and go back to his clinic so he wouldn't have the chance to say anything stupid, very much _in love_ as he was, but he had survived sex. A few more moments with Fenris shouldn't be too difficult—they even had a good couple of feet of distance between them.

The only problem was that he had no idea what to say, and they probably were supposed to have some sort of normal conversation if he was going to stay.

Nervous and suddenly uncomfortable, he pushed his fingers through his tangled hair. He'd let his hair tie home, and now the messy strands were falling to his eyes.

Not that hiding behind them was in any way a bad idea, he thought.

Fenris glanced at him. "Let me help you with that."

Anders shrugged and let his hands drop to his lap. All right, no hiding behind his hair, then.

With that earlier soft smile lingering on his lips, Fenris got up and produced a comb, and Anders wondered if he carried it with him all the time. He'd never seen Fenris comb his own hair; it was always the same without much effort from the elf's part, and that wasn't fair. Fenris didn't deserve perfect hair in addition to everything else he had going for him.

His bare feet silent on the stone floor, Fenris walked around the table and paused to stand behind Anders. Anders swallowed. So much about the safe distance they'd had between them, but now it was too late to refuse.

Fenris's hand touched Anders' hair. "I—" he said, and then didn't finish the sentence.

"Yes?" Anders prompted after a moment. His throat felt a little tight.

Fenris didn't answer. Anders could hear him taking a deep breath, and then the comb brushed his hair. The touch of Fenris's hands was ticklish, almost too light, and Anders sat very still, tense and hardly daring to breathe as the elf began to tease the tangles out of his hair.

He could feel the warmth of Fenris's body behind him as the comb worked, and slowly, the strokes grew more confident, steady and calm in a way that made him feel like a cat being petted. This was intimate in a way he hadn't experienced in a while, and that was frightening, but it didn't stop Anders wanting more. He closed his eyes and let himself concentrate on the touch and enjoy it; he could have sat there and let Fenris do that for a long time.

Apparently, Fenris felt he same. He didn't stop immediately when the tangles were gone but kept the comb moving, smooth and easy trough the strands of Anders' hair.

He'd thought of this, Anders remembered, when this thing between them had only been beginning. It had seemed like such a silly thing to want then.

It didn't seem silly now; it seemed right.

Still very gentle, Fenris pulled Anders' hair back and tied it in place the way he always kept it. "There," he said, his voice soft, and rested his hands on Anders' shoulders. "Perfect."

Anders wondered if Fenris meant the results of his work, or Anders himself, but his foolish heart had its own opinion and decided to start beating faster. He told it to quit it.

It was not being an active listener, but Anders had not really expected that either.

The hands on his shoulders were warm and steady, and despite everything, Anders couldn't resist the temptation to take a hold of one of them and bring it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss on Fenris's knuckles, and Fenris drew in a sharp breath, his fingers twitching, but didn't make a move to pull his hand free.

It was dangerous to touch Fenris like this, outside the bedroom, especially with Anders' poor heart so confused, but that wasn't enough to stop him. He turned Fenris's hand around in his own and kissed the centre of his palm, rough and calloused from handling his sword. The rest of the elf's skin was like silk, soft and smooth and unfairly tempting. His fingers were surprisingly delicate and slender when they weren't covered with unforgiving metal, and Anders found the contrast beautiful.

Maker, he was spouting poetry about the blighted elf's _hands_. He had it bad.

He kissed Fenris's palm again and slid his fingers along one of the pale lines of lyrium curving over it. _Damaged_ , he thought. "This must have hurt."

Fenris was silent for a while. His hand curled into a loose fist around Anders' fingers and held on. When he finally answered, his voice was barely audible. "Sometimes, when someone touches it, it still does."

Anders dropped Fenris's hand as if it had burned him. He stumbled to his feet and turned around, panic welling inside him.

"I didn't know." He thought of his own hands, trailing along the white lines again and again, and the pleasure the touch had brought him. "Shit, Fenris, I didn't—I'm so sorry—"

What kind of a healer was he, causing pain and not even realising it? The first time he'd gripped Fenris's bare wrist, the elf had flinched from him as if the contact had hurt. No matter what Fenris had said then, he should have taken that as the warning it had been—

Fenris caught Anders' hand between his own. "You are one of the few whose touch does not hurt. I don't know why, but it has never been painful." He gave Anders' hand a reassuring squeeze. "It may be because of what you are."

"A mage?"

Fenris's mouth twitched. Anders wasn't sure if it wanted to smile or sneer. "A healer."

Anders let out a shaky but relieved breath. "Maker, you scared me." He tried for a smile, but it felt brittle. The sheer idea that he could have been hurting Fenris again and again when they'd been together made him sick. "Come here."

He pulled Fenris in his arms, held him close, and Fenris sighed and rested his head on Anders' shoulder, leaning against him, heavy and warm. Anders wanted to keep him there forever, safe and protected, because his touch was special, because he could hold Fenris and not harm him.

Fenris had expected Anders' hands on his skin to hurt when he'd agreed to sleep with him. The elf had chosen to give himself to Anders knowing it would be painful, and had been surprised when it had not been.

Anders tightened his hold of Fenris. That sort of thing could break a man much stronger than he was.

"I don't want to hurt you," Anders said.

Fenris didn't answer, but his arms holding Anders squeezed harder for a moment before he let go and stepped back from Anders' hold. Anders let him go with some reluctance.

"In the end, many things hurt, and we live with them," Fenris said.

Anders knew that better than most.

"You are as familiar with pain as I am," the elf continued, as if he'd read Anders' mind.

Anders could only blink at him, surprised.

"What?" Fenris asked. "You thought me unable to acknowledge the suffering you have faced?"

"I…" Anders hesitated, unsure of how to continue. Fenris had never been willing to admit that they both had lived through some awful things—things that had marked them, inside and out. There were parallels, both small and large, that Anders had always thought he'd been the only one willing to see.

"You have suffered due to being a mage, but I can recognise the similarities in what we have experienced. What has been done to you—" Fenris paused, hesitant, and averted his eyes for a moment. "What has been done to you has not always been more fair than what has been done to me."

"That…" Anders swallowed and realised that for once, he was completely at loss of words. His eyes prickled suspiciously, and he tried to ignore that. "Thanks," he got out.

Fenris cupped his cheek, a thumb rubbing gently across his skin. The lyrium lines on his palm and fingers were even warmer than his skin. "Idiot," he said, but there was a faint, gentle smile on his lips.

"You're an idiot," Anders said and covered Fenris's hand with his own. "But really, thank you. I … thank you."

Two damaged things didn't create one whole, Anders thought as they stood there, looking at each other, but it was possible that together, they could find a way to heal some of that damage.

"Don't go soft on me, mage," Fenris said when he finally pulled his hand back, but his words were tempered by the light kiss he pressed on the corner of Anders' mouth. "I'm acknowledging your pain; I'm not joining your war."

Anders couldn't help smiling. "Not yet, you mean."

"Not ever," Fenris said, but he gave Anders another kiss, so Anders decided to let it go. "Your patients are waiting for you, healer." The elf nudged the tips of their noses together. "Go now."

Anders stole another quick kiss, and then forced himself to step back, grab his coat and head to the door, aware that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

Outside, the morning air was cool, a hint of mist lingering in the air. The streets were quiet as Anders walked down the stairs towards Darktown, his steps light. He could feel the warmth of Fenris's touch on his skin, and if he couldn't quite school the faint smile from his lips, it was most certainly not his own fault.

_I love you_ , Anders thought, testing the words in his head like sliding the tip of a finger along a newly-sharpened blade. _I love you_.

Maybe he was an idealist. It was still terrifying, but somewhere inside him, a tiny hope had taken root. It was possible that he did not need to save himself from this. What Fenris and he had together was good. Despite everything that had happened before, it seemed they could have this, could trust each other and build something new and beautiful on that.

To his surprise, Justice didn't disagree.

_I love you_ , Anders thought once more. There was comfort in those words, a promise of a home for his weary heart. He felt more alive with Fenris; at the end of the day, he had something more to wait for now than writing a few lines to his manifesto in an empty room before exhaustion took over. That couldn't be wrong, could it?

That evening, as Anders untied his hair when he was going to bed, he found that Fenris had tied it with a silk ribbon, soft and almost exactly the same shade of green as his coat. Anders' throat went a little tight as he stared at the ribbon, and he swallowed. The colour couldn't be a coincidence; Fenris must have chosen it for him. Fenris had given him a gift, in his own strange, sneaky way. It was a small thing, but it was far more than Anders had ever expected.

For a long moment, he stood there beside his bed, unmoving, the ribbon tangled in his fingers. It felt a lot like Fenris's skin, all smooth and perfect. It was beautiful, and he adored it.

He would never use anything else to tie his hair, Anders promised himself as he set the ribbon on top of his clothes with careful hands.

As he curled into his bed, warm and comfortable despite being there alone that night, he decided it wasn't so bad being in love, after all. He didn't know what future would bring, but perhaps it was fair to give these feelings a chance. He had loved before with the same intensity, and he had lost everything then, but maybe this time, he would deserve a bit of luck and happiness.

He drifted to sleep with a content smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what's this? Has Anders come to his senses? Praise be!
> 
> Adorable art By [Gremkt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt) for this chapter [here](https://kirkwallgremlin.tumblr.com/post/615921491078414336/that-evening-as-anders-untied-his-hair-when-he)!


	16. In Which Anders Ponders Over Love and Luck

Anders glared at his cards and tossed his inevitably terrible hand on the table.

"You know," Isabela said, "you could at least have a decent chance at bluffing if you didn't let the rest of us read your hand right from your pretty face every time."

"As if that would do any good," Anders huffed. "Everyone already knows I'm going to lose. Why do I always get the worst cards, riddle me that?"

"A lot of bad luck," Aveline offered.

That wasn't particularly helpful. Anders snorted. "I can certainly believe _that_ ," he said.

"Well, unlucky at cards, lucky in love, right?" Varric said, and had the audacity to wink at him.

Anders managed to avoid glancing at Fenris, but only barely. That would have been a huge, embarrassing mistake, the kind that could have ruined everything. It was too soon to allow Fenris, let alone the others, to know.

"I wish," he muttered, poking at his useless cards. "All right, I'm done losing for the night." He emptied the ale he'd been nursing all evening and pushed his chair back. "I'll see you all later."

A chorus of goodbyes and good night wishes followed him out of the door.

The cool night air was a relief after the stuffy warmth of the tavern, and Anders took a deep breath and leant against the wall. He wasn't sure if Fenris would follow him out and come home with him tonight, but waiting for a few moments wouldn't hurt.

He found himself tensing with anticipation every time the door opened and someone came out, and then had to tell himself to calm down when it wasn't Fenris. It was possible he was being too optimistic; nothing guaranteed that Fenris would be willing to leave early because Anders had done so. The elf had his own life, and Anders wasn't the centre of it. At least not yet.

He had just decided it was best to head home—if Fenris wanted to share his bed, the elf knew where to find him—when the door opened again, the noise of drunken people loud in the quiet night, and Fenris stepped out.

Anders grinned. "Well what do you know, it's my favourite broody elf. I thought you couldn't resist following me."

Fenris huffed. "You _were_ waiting."

"Of course I was." Anders turned to walk towards Darktown, and Fenris fell in step with him. "You know I get cold without someone keeping me warm in my bed."

"You would be wise to make sure I am the _only_ one you let in your bed," Fenris stated, though his light tone suggested he wasn't very worried.

"Why would I bother with someone else when you're so bloody fantastic?" Anders asked.

Fenris nudged him on the side with an elbow, and Anders couldn't help smiling. Lucky in love or not, he was at least blessed when it came to bed partners; who wouldn't envy him for having someone like Fenris?

Anders wasn't surprised that Fenris was on him the moment they were in the privacy of his clinic, lips claiming his mouth and hands claiming his body. He surrendered willingly, arms around the elf's neck, pulling him close. Fenris's kisses were deep and hungry, and they tasted of the wine the elf had drank.

As they kissed, Fenris's still-gauntleted hands were working on the fastenings of his robes, leaving Anders no chance to do anything himself. Soon, he found he was only wearing his trousers, his boots and the rest of his clothes strewn all over the floor.

"You work fast," he teased as the elf pulled back and began to remove his gauntlets.

"I much prefer your bare skin under my hands," Fenris said, and let the first gauntlet fall to the floor with a loud clang.

Before he had the time to start the other one, Anders caught his wrist and, very carefully, opened the clasps himself. Fenris watched him, gaze focused on his face, as Anders took off the gauntlet and let it join the other one on the floor.

With his eyes locked with Fenris's, Anders raised the now-bare hand, and took two fingers into his mouth. Fenris drew a sharp breath as Anders' lips wrapped around them, and when Anders let his tongue slide along the fingers and sucked, the elf's eyes fluttered closed and head fell back. His tasted of lyrium, laced with a faint trace of iron from the gauntlets.

Anders couldn't believe he'd never done this to Fenris before. He adored these hands and the things they could do to him and would have gladly spent days worshipping them like this.

With his own hand still gripping Fenris's wrist, he let his tongue explore the roughness of the familiar callouses and trail along the lyrium lines. Fenris's lips were parted, his breathing heavy, and when he blinked his eyes open to meet Anders', they were dark with desire. The fingers flexed in Anders' mouth, pressed gently against his tongue before pushing deeper, and Anders swallowed around them. With each movement, he could feel the tendons shifting where he was gripping Fenris's wrist, and he let his thumb slide along Fenris's skin to feel the elf's pulse under it, steady but quickened.

Without a warning, the lyrium blazed, and Anders had never felt it in his mouth like that, burning, electric. He swallowed around the fingers again, and the heat seemed to travel down his throat, more intoxicating than any wine. He moaned, and heard Fenris's moan echo his own as he sucked harder.

Justice was wild for Fenris, desperate for the lyrium and so close to the surface that for a moment Anders feared the spirit would take over. He waited with a bated breath, and in the end, Justice had the sense to stay down, but Anders could feel his desire as clearly as his own, twirling in his bloodstream and mixing with the lyrium and his magic.

Trembling with his and the spirit's shared need, Anders fell to his knees, like a worshipper in front of his deity. His grip around Fenris's glowing wrist ensured that the elf's fingers didn't leave his mouth, and his free hand went to work on the fastenings of Fenris leggings, clumsy but determined. As much as he loved those fingers in his mouth, he wanted more.

Above him, Fenris took an unsteady breath, a shaky hand coming to cradle the back of Anders's head. The glow of his lyrium faded. "You don't have to…"

Anders let Fenris's fingers fall from his mouth and used both hands to yank his leggings and smalls down to his thighs.

"Shut up."

He had no idea why Fenris would imagine he was doing the elf some sort of favour, because he wanted this with urgency bordering on desperation. It didn't matter what Fenris thought, though, because he was right there, hard and ready.

Anders shifted closer and took him in his mouth without hesitation, and the noise Fenris made was like nothing Anders had heard before, high and sharp, beautiful in its eagerness. Anders took him in as deep as he could and swallowed around him, just as he'd swallowed around those lovely fingers. Fenris filled his mouth and throat, thick and hard and almost too good to be real, the faint salty taste of his skin spreading across Anders' tongue.

Fenris's hand on the back of his head clenched, fingertips digging into his scalp through his hair. Anders could hear the elf's breathing, fast and a little erratic.

He wanted to make it go ragged. He wanted Fenris to lose control.

Hungry for it, Anders pulled back enough to focus on the tip, licking around it, letting his tongue press hard against the most sensitive spots, and Fenris sighed, his right hand joining the other in Anders's hair, fingers combing through the strands, pulling them free from their tie. For a brief moment, Anders worried about losing his silk ribbon, but Fenris gave a shallow thrust into Anders' mouth, and Anders forgot everything else.

He sucked gently and swirled his tongue around the hardness, and Fenris thrust into his mouth again. Anders was hard too, straining in his trousers, but instead of touching himself, he clutched at Fenris's thighs and concentrated on the elf's pleasure. More than his own satisfaction, he wanted to please Fenris now.

Fenris continued thrusting, still slow and easy, and Anders pulled him closer, encouraging the movement. The elf trailed his fingers around Anders' stretched lips, smiling down at him as Anders glanced up, and Anders wanted Fenris to keep looking at him like that forever. He may have been the one on his knees, but he felt adored, he felt respected.

The next thrust was a little harder, and Anders' fingernais dug into Fenris's thighs. Both of Fenris's hands went back to Anders' hair, fingertips tightening against his scull every time his tongue did something especially good. Fenris gasped whenever Anders allowed him to push particularly deep, and Anders would have smiled if he could. The elf was already falling apart, and Anders revelled in it.

"You—you—" Fenris began, but if he had anything more to say, he never got to that.

His voice was wrecked in a way that made the strain in Anders' trousers almost unbearable, and he was panting now, all control gone. Nothing had ever sounded as beautiful. His thighs were trembling under Anders' hands and his thrusts weren't gentle anymore, his hands clenched in Anders' hair as he pushed himself deep. All Anders could do was to cling to Fenris and let his mouth be used until the elf suddenly stilled.

" _Anders_ ," he said, sounding as if Anders were killing him, and spilled over his tongue.

Anders swallowed the best he could around his mouthful, eager to accept every drop, and Fenris moaned again. The hands clutching Anders' hair were shaking, and Fenris's irregular breaths were loud in the silent room.

When he finally pulled out, he didn't give Anders even the time to wipe his mouth before yanking him up to unsteady legs. Fenris's lips were on his immediately, hard and demanding, tongue licking at his mouth until Anders parted it and allowed the elf access.

The kiss was intense enough to take his breath away, and when Fenris finally released his mouth, Anders was left panting along with the elf.

"Maker," he managed. "I—"

Fenris didn't let him finish his sentence. The elf's mouth claimed his again, and then again and again, the kisses blurring together. Anders could do nothing more but to kiss back and hold on. Fenris was still wearing his armour, the touch of the breastplate freezing cold on Anders' bare chest, and he didn't care. All he wanted was more kisses and relief for the ache between his legs.

Even as he dragged Anders towards the bed, Fenris seemed unable to stop kissing him. Their mouths weren't apart more than a heartbeat before meeting again, and Anders, delirious with it, thought that he'd happily spend the rest of his life on his knees if it got him kissed like this again.

He ended up on his back with Fenris on top of him, still kissing as if he never intended to stop. One of the elf's hands was making its way down Anders' bare chest, and when it reached the fastenings of his trousers, he thought he'd come before Fenris got him out of his clothes. Anders clung to Fenris, one hand on his waist, the other fisted into that lovely white hair.

He gasped and writhed as Fenris's fingers slipped into his smalls and found their prize. The elf began to stroke, his grip tight and perfect and his rough palm hot against Anders' sensitive flesh, and Anders' hips jolted up from the bed. Oh how he loved those hands.

It only took moments. Anders was already desperate for release, and Fenris knew exactly how to touch him, how to make him lose his mind. After a dozen thrusts into the elf's hand, Anders was almost there, and then Fenris bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt as his thumb circled the wet tip of Anders' hardness, the lyrium suddenly bright in the dim room, and Anders was _gone_. He may have screamed, he wasn't sure, but if he did, Fenris's mouth was there to muffle the sound.

Behind his closed eyelids, the world was brilliant blue, and he couldn't tell if it was Justice or the lyrium.

Coming down seemed to take a long while. When Anders could finally focus on his surroundings, he found himself fully naked and Fenris once again curled on top of him, thankfully with his armour gone now. Anders wrapped his arms around the elf, and Fenris made a satisfied sound against his chest. He was always so sweet afterwards, sleepy and willing to be petted.

To Anders' relief, his hair tie was lying on the sheets beside him, tangled but safe. Fenris must have still had it in his hands when he'd dragged Anders to the bed. Carefully, Anders pushed it under the pillow and hoped it'd stay safe there.

As they lay curled together, Fenris's fingers following imaginary patterns on Anders' skin, Anders remembered something.

"You know, you never told me what I do to you."

Fenris raised his head and gave him a confused look, the hand on his chest stilling. "Hmm?"

"When we'd gotten back from Sundermount and I came over to check your wrist and you dragged me to bed. I said you were trying to kill me, and you said it was fair because I didn't know what I did to you. I want to know."

"My wrist was merely an excuse, was it not?" Fenris asked.

Anders should have known Fenris would get caught up on exactly the wrong part of what he'd said.

"It was. And don't change the subject, elf. What do I do to you?" He couldn't help grinning. "I have the right to know, and I want every sordid detail."

Fenris propped himself up on his elbows above Anders, intent green gaze focused on his face. "You drive me mad," he started. "You make me burn with desire at the most inappropriate moments. I watched you smile at others tonight at Varric's table, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss you hard and bend you over and have my way with you right there. You incline your head a certain way and I wish I had you under me, writhing, begging, desperate as I fill you."

Anders swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Oh?" he managed.

Fenris hummed. "You are mouthy and rebellious and proud, and it should not make me want you, but it does. If I ever lose my mind, you shall be the one to blame." He narrowed his eyes at Anders. "You must have put a spell on me, mage. I am very cross with you for seducing me like this."

He didn't look cross; he almost looked happy, and Anders laughed.

"No you're not. You're glad that I'm allowing you access to my hot body," he teased.

Fenris bit his lower lip as if he was struggling to keep a smile off his face. "I hate you."

Grinning, Anders tapped the tip of Fenris's nose with his forefinger. "No you don't. You're mad with desire for me, you already told me so and can't take that back."

Fenris wrinkled his nose, but the corner of his mouth was pulling upwards.

Anders adored him. "Come here," he said, and dragged Fenris into a kiss.

They kissed for a while, slow and gentle, and then Fenris settled back on Anders' chest, pressing one final kiss over Anders' breastbone before closing his eyes, and Anders smiled. He loved the elf's weight on him, his warmth, the softness of his skin.

It was strange how someone who had been made a weapon, who had honed himself after taking his freedom until he was as sharp and dangerous as the sword he carried, could make Anders feel so safe and comfortable. He could rip Anders to pieces if he wanted, yet here he was, willing to sleep in Anders' arms, allowing himself to be vulnerable, allowing Anders the privilege to touch him.

Maybe Varric had been right and Anders was lucky in love, if that was at all possible. He did have Fenris right here with him and their strange little relationship seemed to be developing to the exactly right direction, after all.

Fenris didn't love him yet, but desire could always grow into love, and Anders was willing to give the elf the time and care he needed for that to happen. In the end, Fenris would fall for him. All it took was patience and a little bit of luck.

He'd be happy to never win a single game of cards if that meant he could have Fenris for himself for the rest of his life.


	17. In Which Anders Wins a Bet

"What's that?" Anders asked.

Fenris had just walked into his clinic with a basket cowered with a piece of chequered fabric under his arm—not a sight Anders had expected to see. Fenris didn't seem like the type to carry around cheerful little things like that.

"It's a basket," Fenris said, and laid said basket on Anders' desk.

Anders rapped the elf's breastplate with his knuckles in retaliation. "What's _in_ the bloody basket?" Except that he could already smell it, warm and sugary in the air. "You brought food? For me?"

Fenris shrugged. "You do not eat enough." He nudged the basket towards Anders.

Anders pulled off the fabric covering the basket, revealing what looked—and definitely smelled—like a fresh pie. With careful hands, lifted it from the basket and set it on the desk. It was still warm, and his stomach growled as he breathed in the tempting scent of it.

"Not a moment too early," Fenris muttered. "I'm sure even you have a few plates somewhere here?"

The pie turned out to be apple, and it tasted fantastic. The crust was heavy with butter and the apples were sweet as sin and flavoured with plenty of cinnamon. It was exactly the kind of a treat Anders always wanted but could almost never have; he didn't have the possibility to bake for himself, and buying things like this was a luxury he could not afford.

"If I had not slept with you, I would say this was better than sex," he said between bites.

Fenris snorted and bit his lip. If he did that in an attempt to keep a smile off his face, it wasn't working too well. "Eat," was his only response.

Anders did.

They ended up finishing more than half of the pie between them, though Anders was pretty sure he ate the most of it. He pushed his plate away and gave the remaining pie a longing look.

"I suppose you want to take the rest of that back home?"

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, mage."

Which Anders translated to mean no. He tried not to beam too obviously, but the look Fenris gave him suggested he failed miserably.

The elf shifted closer and cupped his cheek. "I think could do with some dessert," he said and kissed Anders. His lips tasted of apples and cinnamon.

"Isn't apple pie already kind of—" Anders realised how Fenris was looking at him and paused. "Oh. You mean me."

Fenris gave him an adorable half-smile and took Anders' hand. "Bed?"

"Bed," Anders agreed.

He rather liked the idea of being the elf's dessert.

Anders had never met anyone, man or woman, with a mouth as sinfully wonderful as Fenris's was. Having it wrapped around his aching hardness reduced Anders into a panting mess in mere moments. Skill like that alone could have made a man fall in love with him. The things Fenris could do with his lips and tongue and teeth were downright criminal, and he seemed to enjoy using them on Anders as much as Anders enjoyed them on him.

"Fenris," Anders gasped, helpless against the waves of pleasure washing over him. "Fenris, oh, oh—!"

Fenris hummed around his mouthful and looked up at Anders from under his dark lashes. He looked obscene like that, head bent and lips stretched tight around Anders. Anders adored him.

"You're perfect," Anders whispered. "If I'd known you're this brilliant in bed, I would have kissed you far sooner."

Fenris gave him a faint smile without letting Anders slip from his mouth and swallowed around him before lifting his head a fraction and focusing on the tip. Each swipe of his tongue drove Anders closer to the edge until he was certain that it would be all over before he could even say Fenris's name.

With a twirl of his tongue around him, Fenris let Anders fall from his mouth.

Anders could have murdered him.

"Fenris…" he started.

Fenris licked at him, a long stripe from root to tip, and Anders forgot what he'd been about to say. There were kisses and little licks all along his hardness, and Anders' hips twitched up, seeking for more contact. It was glorious torture, and he didn't want it to end.

Fenris pulled back—he had a maddening habit of stopping exactly at the worst possible moment—and Anders whined and reached out towards him. Fenris gave him a reproving click of his tongue as he caught Anders' hand and pinned it to the bedding.

Damn sadist.

"Calm yourself," Fenris said. "I'm far from done with you." And he took Anders back into his mouth.

Anders shoved a fist into his own mouth to keep from crying out, teeth digging into his knuckles hard enough to hurt. The heat of Fenris's mouth was almost unbearable, the slick, firm touch of his tongue too perfect. The pleasure was growing, building again with each bob of Fenris's head, taking over his mind until he was its willing slave, desperate to come yet happy to be trapped on the very edge for the rest of his life.

That, of course, was when Fenris lifted his head again, latching his mouth on the sensitive skin on the crease between thigh and hip. There was suction, hard enough to leave a faint mark, and Anders moaned, his hips bucking up in a wordless plea.

Fenris did not take pity on him. The elf's lips travelled down his thigh, leaving a slow trail of kisses in their wake, and Anders spread his legs wider. Hot breath ghosted over his skin, so close to where Anders wanted it to be, and yet so far.

That lovely mouth found the delicate skin of his inner thigh, lips parting, teeth grazing, and Anders knew there would be a bite a heartbeat before he felt it. He hissed, his hips jerking up as the sharp, brilliant pain only served to emphasise his burning need.

"Fenris, please," he begged, writhing on the bed. "You have to…"

"I do not _have_ to do anything." Fenris kissed the place he'd bitten before looking up and meeting his eyes. "But you are so sweet that maybe I shall be kind." He offered Anders a teasing smile. "Keep looking at me. Don't take your eyes off me."

Anders nodded, his mouth dry with anticipation, and Fenris lowered his head and swallowed him down again. There was hard suction and the glorious, dangerous hint of teeth, and Anders knew he wouldn't last. He fisted both hands into Fenris's silky hair, helpless against the bliss that was building too fast now, and then he was crying out, his eyes never leaving Fenris's as he emptied himself down the elf's throat.

Fenris swallowed and swallowed and didn't stop until Anders had nothing more to give. With a soft sigh, he let Anders fall from his mouth, lifted his head and licked his lips. He looked so unbearably smug that Anders almost wanted to smack him.

Instead, he used the hold he still had of Fenris's hair to tug the elf up. "Kiss me," he demanded, still breathless.

Fenris crawled up and pressed that lovely mouth on Anders', sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Anders opened his mouth, allowing Fenris access, and moaned as he tasted himself on the elf's tongue. He could feel Fenris's smile against his lips, and when the elf broke the kiss and pulled back, the corners of his mouth were still curved upward, satisfied like a cat that got the cream. Anders reached up and traced the tip of his forefinger along Fenris's full bottom lip.

"That wicked mouth of yours is going to be the death of me."

Fenris caught his hand and kissed the tip of his finger, then his bent knuckles. "I believe I would consider that an honour."

Anders gave him a half-hearted swat on the arm with his free hand. "You are horrible. Cruel. Mean. Evil. Also broody." He grinned. "Mostly broody."

"And you are insolent." Fenris shifted, his hips bumping against Anders's lower belly, an unsubtle reminder that he hadn't gotten his turn yet. He kissed Anders' knuckles again. "Keep mouthing off and I will make you regret it, sweet mage."

"I very much doubt that. If whatever you're planning involves you naked and touching me, it absolutely cannot give me any regrets," Anders stated.

"Really now?"

"Really."

"Would you like to bet on that?" Fenris nudged Anders' legs wider apart. "If, let us say, you agreed to let me take you now, _right now_ , you believe you wouldn't regret that?"

"How _could_ I regret that?"

"You only finished moments ago," Fenris pointed out. " _And_ proclaimed my mouth to be enough to kill you."

"I was exaggerating. I'm young and virile, elf, I can handle it."

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that!" Anders would have crossed his arms, but one of his hands was still held in Fenris's. He settled for giving the elf a stern look. "Two sovereigns say you can have me whichever way you wish, and I will not regret a _moment_ of it."

The eyebrow went higher, joined by the other one. "Do you even have two sovereigns?"

Anders gave him an offended look. "Of course I do!" It was a bold-faced lie, but he was feeling pretty good about his chances of winning, so he wasn't too worried about that, despite the disapproving little nudge Justice gave him.

"Very well, mage."

For a moment, Fenris regarded him with thoughtful eyes. A pleasant shiver went up Anders' spine as he watched the elf consider his options. Whatever Fenris was planning, Anders already knew it would be amazing.

Fenris nodded to himself, his mouth tilting into a dangerous, delicious smile, and then he was getting up, pulling Anders out of the bed along with him.

Stumbling a little, Anders managed to get to his feet, and Fenris twirled him around and shoved him towards the wall. He braced himself with his forearms against it, but Fenris caught his left wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, pinning his hand between his shoulder blades.

"This is how I am going to have you," Fenris breathed into the nape of his neck. "Hard, against the wall." His lips brushed Anders' skin. "No mercy."

Anders didn't say it out loud, but that definitely sounded promising.

Fenris shifted closer, trapping Anders in place with the weight of his body. He was hard, digging into the back of Anders' upper thigh, leaving quickly-cooling trails of wetness on his skin. Anders shuddered and spread his legs further apart, pushing his hips back to make it clear how much he approved of that plan.

"Do your worst."

Fenris let out a soft laugh that tickled Anders' skin and let go of Anders' wrist for a moment as he reached for the grease. Anders was already trembling with anticipation as he listened to Fenris slicking himself up, and then fingers, still a little slick, caught his wrist again. The elf's other hand landed on Anders' hip as the wet tip of his hardness pushed between Anders' buttocks, and with a sharp snap of his hips, Fenris filled him. Anders cried out at the sudden intrusion, back arching as his still oversensitive body tried to adjust to being forced open so quickly.

Fenris stilled, breathing hot air on to the back of his neck.

"Anders?" There was a hint of worry in his voice, as if he thought he'd gone too far.

He had not. He probably could not. Anders would let him do anything, anything at all.

"Is this—is this all you got?" Anders taunted.

Fenris's hold of him tightened, and the elf pulled out of him all the way before slamming back in. Another cry escaped Anders, but this time Fenris only laughed and did it again, and then again, and Anders' legs were already shaking. It was too much, too soon, his body aching with it, and he would have killed Fenris if he had stopped now. Even to his own surprise, he was already hardening again.

Fenris's tattoos lit up, burning fiercely blue in the dim room and sending a bolt of ecstasy racing through Anders' bloodstream. Anders groaned and tilted his hips back to get more, his entire body aflame with desire. Fenris's hand tightened on his hip, pulling him back, and Anders' fingers twitched against the wall.

"Still think you can handle this?" Fenris snarled. "Tell me, mage."

"I—ah!" Anders squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing ragged. He was fully hard now, and certain he could handle anything Fenris had to offer. "If this is the best you can do, then you—then you—" his words dissolved into a grunt as Fenris gave him a particularly vicious thrust.

"You were saying?"

Anders rested his forehead on the cool wall, cursing softly under his breath, but he was not one to back down from a challenge. Neither was Justice.

" _Harder_ ," he demanded, the spirit's voice echoing his own.

Fenris gave it to him harder, fingertips digging into his wrist and hip, the slap of skin on skin loud in the room. They were both panting, and Anders was sweating, almost painfully sensitive but still desperate for more, always more as long as it was Fenris giving it to him.

The elf's hand rose from his hip to his hair, forcing his head back, and sharp teeth sank into the tender junction of his neck and shoulder. The pain that laced through Anders mixed with the pleasure of Fenris inside him in the most delicious way, and Anders cried out and shoved his hips backwards to take Fenris as deep into himself as possible. Every thrust seemed to find the perfect spot inside him, rubbing hard across it until Anders was sure he couldn't take it a moment longer.

The lyrium tattoos flared brighter, burning like electricity where they pressed into Anders's skin. The pressure inside him kept building with each rough snap of Fenris's hips, almost unbearable until it crested, and Anders was screaming, wordless and desperate. His back arched and legs trembled, the hand against the wall clenching and unclenching as he pulsed and shuddered through his completion, untouched.

Behind him, Fenris growled low in his throat, and after a few more hard thrusts, Anders could feel the wet heat of Fenris's release inside him, filling, marking, claiming him once again.

Slowly, the glow of Fenris's tattoos dimmed and he let go of Anders' arm and hair before slipping out of him, along with a rush of liquid. His breath was cooling the sweat on the back of Anders' neck.

"Wow," Anders said, once he'd stopped gulping air like a man drowning. "I—wow."

Fenris hummed and nuzzled his ear. "Indeed." The elf took a stumbling step to the side, dragging Anders along with him. Somehow, they both managed to fall back into the bed, Anders face down and Fenris mostly on top of him.

"You're heavy," Anders complained after a moment.

Fenris mumbled something incomprehensible and possibly annoyed but moved to the side. Anders rolled onto his back and tugged him closer, and with a sigh, Fenris settled half on top of him, warm and familiar in his arms. Anders dragged the blanket over them and squeezed Fenris to his chest. He wished he would never have to let go. This was almost as close to perfection as he would ever get: he was warm and happy and sated, lying in bed with his favourite elf. The only thing that could make this better would be Fenris's love.

It took a while before their breaths steadied, and then Anders caught Fenris by the hair and guided him up and into a slow, grateful kiss.

"Better than apple pie?" Fenris asked, lips still brushing his.

"It's a close call, but you win," Anders said. "Which means I'm not regretting a damn thing. You owe me two sovereigns."

"Worth it," Fenris said and kissed him again.


	18. In Which Hawke Is a Man on a Mission, and Fenris Seems Tired

Anders noticed the bruising when he was getting dressed.

On the junction of his neck and shoulder, the marks of Fenris's teeth were clear, reddish and purple. Maker, the elf had bitten him _hard_.

He pressed the tips of his fingers into the bruise, sending a fresh jolt of pain through his body. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still almost feel the heat of Fenris's mouth there.

There was another bruise on the crease of his hip, this one much paler and without teeth marks. Looking at it brought back some very clear memories of where else Fenris's mouth had been, and Anders smiled a little.

It would have been easy to heal both of the bruises if Anders had wanted. Which he didn't. He was more than happy to carry Fenris's marks on his skin as long as he could. Bruises may not have been the most romantic gift, unlike apple pies and silk ribbons that were, in Anders' opinion, very romantic, but Anders couldn't help liking them anyway. He'd always had a weakness for biters.

Fenris had been unwilling to leave that morning, clinging to Anders when they lay together under the covers. They'd kissed for a long while, slow and sweet and sleepy, before Fenris had dragged himself to his feet and slipped out, though not before giving Anders one more lingering kiss. It had been a good morning, Anders thought.

Smiling, he pulled his shirt on, hiding the bruising from prying eyes. It was his and his alone, a little secret he wasn't planning on sharing with anyone else. He didn't want someone to realise what a treasure Fenris was; anyone with any sense would try to steal the elf from him. Fenris was only sharing this part of himself with Anders right now, and there was no need to change that. He had no doubt that there were others who coveted Fenris enough already. The last thing they needed was more reasons to do so.

He finished dressing, tied his hair with the green ribbon, ate a piece of the pie Fenris had left him, and set to work, full of energy.

It probably shouldn't have come as a surprise that his good mood didn't fade for the whole day.

Sometimes, when he worked and wasn't paying attention, his hand wandered up to press against the bruise, rekindling the low ache of it, and he found himself smiling like an idiot. He could hardly wait for the evening when he'd have Fenris back in his arms.

They could make another bet. This time, they could bet on something other than coin—Anders already had a few great ideas in mind. If he played his cards right, both losing and winning could turn out to be equally enjoyable.

He didn't think Fenris would refuse. The elf had proven to be surprisingly playful in bed, and if all else failed, Anders could be very persuasive.

Unfortunately, Hawke ruined Anders' plans, as he was sometimes wont to do. He appeared at Anders door just after sunset, this time with Aveline and Varric in tow.

"Who needs to be dead now?" Anders asked. "You know, for a man visiting a healer, you very rarely come here to ask me to heal someone."

"Well that's not fair, is it?" Hawke glanced at his two companions as if looking for support.

"He does have a point," Varric said.

"Definitely," Aveline agreed.

Hawke gave them both a betrayed look. "I always ask him to come along because he's the healer!" he protested. He turned back to Anders. "I do, don't claim otherwise!"

Anders snorted. "Whatever you say. Who needs to be healed, then?"

"Well, not anyone _right now_ ," Hawke admitted, "but there's a high chance someone does before morning. So you're coming, of course."

"Of course," Anders said. "Where am I coming?"

"We need to do some cleaning up," Hawke said.

He was grinning in a way that promised they were going to be busy all night. Anders wouldn't have stayed home for all the gold in Thedas, but still he spent a short moment mourning all the sleep he would lose before he followed the others out of the door and locked it behind his back.

"I'm surprised Justice has allowed you to get a silk tie for your hair," Varric said to Anders as they began to walk away from the clinic.

Anders very nearly stumbled over his own feet. He was glad it was so dark, because he could feel the sudden heat of a blush rising up his neck.

"It was a gift," he said and hoped he sounded casual. "Couldn't get much coin for selling it so he's fine with it." What he didn't say was that the sheer mention of selling the ribbon had immediately driven Justice to rant about the injustice of not keeping such a kind gift.

Varric nodded. "Of course," he said, grinned at Anders, and then hurried to catch up with Hawke.

Anders swallowed. He hadn't thought anyone would notice the ribbon, but a part of him was elated that someone had. _Look at me. Someone cares enough to give me pretty gifts._

Silly, yes, but Anders wasn't always above silliness—and neither was Justice, it seemed. The spirit opposed of that assessment, rather loudly. Anders ignored him.

They hadn't walked far after that before Justice recognised a familiar presence. Anders turned to glance over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see Fenris striding towards them. He took a quick look to the direction of the others and when he was sure they weren't paying attention, he paused and waited for the elf.

"Hello," Fenris said as he reached Anders, his voice low and soft. Gauntleted fingers brushed across the back of Anders' hand, the touch cold but gentle.

"Hello," Anders said back, his own voice just as quiet.

Fenris slipped two sovereigns into Anders' palm. "I would have given you these this morning, but leaving coin after a shared night could have implied things I didn't wish to imply."

Amused, Anders snorted. "Well, thanks. At least two sovereigns would've suggested you found the quality of my services pretty high."

"Idiot," Fenris said, but the fondness in his voice turned the insult almost into an endearment.

Anders wished he could take Fenris's hand and pull the elf into a hug, but of course that wouldn't do in public. He had to settle for a smile that Fenris returned before he stepped past Anders and called for Hawke.

For a brief moment, Anders wondered how it would be if they let the others know they were together. He dismissed the thought quickly; it would only complicate things further. He needed to win Fenris's love first, and then he could think of the future.

Hawke was taking his clean-up mission seriously, as the thugs populating Kirkwall's streets that night got to learn. He'd always had an uncanny ability to find trouble, and it didn't let him down tonight either; they ended up in a fight almost immediately after Fenris had joined them.

And Anders nearly ended up dead soon after.

He'd meant to stay on the side-lines where he could use his magic without having to worry about being sliced in half every time he focused on a spell, but the alley was narrow and a heap of rubbish blocked one end of it. He got caught in the middle of the worst part of the battle, and before he knew it, one of the thugs was coming at him with large club raised.

Anders stumbled backwards, but the club caught the edge of his ribcage and the blow forced the air out of his lungs. He staggered as sharp pain jolted through his body and made him lose his grasp of the spell he'd been ready for.

The next blow would have crushed his skull if Fenris hadn't appeared out of nowhere and caught him by the collar of his coat.

"Stay _back_ , " Fenris snarled as he yanked Anders backwards and threw him against the nearest wall, away from the worst of the fight.

The impact forced out the little air he'd gotten back into his lungs and jostled his already bruised side. As he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, he could see Fenris's hand sink into the attacker's chest. It emerged a moment later bloodied and with a heart resting on its palm, and the man fell, silent. Fenris let go of the heart and took care of another thug with his sword, and the fight was over.

Anders had gotten enough air back into his lungs that he could try to get up, but Fenris dropped down beside him and caught his wrist with a bloodied hand. Anders stilled. Fenris's eyes were wide with what looked like genuine fear, and Anders didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't much appreciate getting his sleeve bloody. It wouldn't be the only part of his clothing that would get bloodied that night, anyway.

"I'm all right," Anders reassured Fenris. "I'm fine. Andraste's _tits_ , that hurt."

Fenris's hand clenched around his wrist. "If I could, I would kill them all again for harming you," he muttered.

Anders laughed, and then immediately regretted it when pain laced though his ribs. "I just bet you would, you bloody maniac," he managed.

Hawke had stepped past the corpses and leant over them now, a careful look in his eyes. "Shall our healer live?"

"Barely," Anders said. "Help me up."

Hawke offered a hand, and Anders took it. Fenris was still gripping his other wrist, and together, they pulled Anders to his feet. Anders winced at the pain that shot through his ribs at the movement, but bad as it was, at least he didn't have any bones broken.

"If you need rest—" Hawke began as he let go of Anders' hand.

"I'm _fine_ ," Anders said. "Don't fuss, I'm a big apostate. Give me a few moments and I'll take care of it."

Hawke gave him a doubtful look, but nodded. "All right. Fenris, keep an eye on him."

"I shall," Fenris said. He was still gripping Anders' wrist in his hand, and Anders wondered if Hawke had noticed.

Most likely not; there would have been no end to the teasing he would have subjected the two of them if he had.

"I told you to stay back," Fenris said, very quietly, when Hawke was out of earshot, already planning their next move with the others.

"Yes. Right _after_ I'd gotten hit by that bastard, very useful." He gave Fenris an annoyed look as he called his magic and let it spin around the bruised area. "Also you weren't being particularly polite about it."

Fenris let go of Anders' wrist and took a step back, probably to get away from the glowing magic, glaring at Anders.

"I wasn't aware that I had to be _polite_ for you to listen to reasonable advice." He crossed his arms over his chest, and his hand smeared more blood on his already stained breastplate. "You risk yourself every time you use your magic here where any templar could see," he continued, "and without it, you are defenceless. You are in an extremely vulnerable position, and I do not like it."

"I'm not defenceless!" The magic had done its job well enough, and Anders let it fade and focused on glaring back at Fenris.

The elf gave him a look that clearly said, _Yes you are_. "You need to be more careful," he stated.

"I am being careful!" Anders snapped. "I can take care of myself, elf."

"Weren't you supposed to be _into_ being saved," Fenris muttered, barely audible, and shook his head. "I very much doubt that claim," he added, voice a little sharper.

"Then you must be the stupid one here." Anders paused and looked at Fenris, tilting his head. "Maker, why are we _fighting_?"

Fenris caught him by the front of his robes and yanked him close. He used the hand that still had blood on it and stained the fabric with red in the process. "Because you are a self-destructive idiot, and a moment ago, I almost _lost_ you."

And just like that, Anders' annoyance was gone. Fenris's breath was hot across his cheek, the tip of his nose almost touching Anders'.

"If we were in private, I would kiss you now," Anders whispered.

Fenris's eyes went wide. In the dim light, his pupils were already enormous, but Anders could have sworn he saw them dilating further.

"Are you two lovebirds done?" Varric called. "We've got work to do."

Fenris leapt back as if he'd been burned. Muttering curses under his breath, he turned to march towards the others.

Despite the faint echoes of pain still lingering in his ribs, Anders had to laugh as he followed the elf.

Anders managed to keep himself away from harm's way during the next fight and throw in a few useful spells before the thugs were all down. He healed the cuts Aveline and Hawke had received, and then glanced at Fenris.

The elf was leaning on his sword, and Anders felt a tiniest twinge of guilt. Fenris was always delightfully eager to have him, but maybe Anders should have been the responsible one and not kept them both awake half the night. Hawke must have had Fenris running on his business all day and now all night too, and the elf needed to get his rest at some point.

Of course, Anders had also been busy all day with his patients, but he was a Grey Warden and had Justice's strength to borrow too. As a warrior, Fenris had remarkable stamina himself—he'd proven that enough times, both in bed and outside of it—but everyone had their limits, and Fenris may have been close to reaching his.

"Are you all right?" Anders asked, keeping his voice quiet enough that the others couldn't hear.

Fenris straightened and gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"Of course I am."

Anders raised an eyebrow. He should have known that Fenris's pride wouldn't let him admit any weakness. "Really? You seem pretty tired to me. Maybe you should … consider going home?"

He got a sharp glare for that. "I'm _fine_. I'm not going _anywhere_." Fenris sheathed his sword turned to walk after Hawke and the others, and Anders followed.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" he muttered. He didn't expect an answer, but he got one anyway.

"Because," Fenris said, his voice low, "I'm here to keep you alive, mage."

Anders' heart did a strange fluttery thing at that. He hoped his face stayed neutral. "I'm a big boy, elf. I just told you I can take care of myself, remember?"

The look in Fenris's eyes softened. "I remember. But I feel better knowing someone has your back. You were already hurt, and you are … you are particularly fragile."

It was Anders' turn to glare at Fenris, all fluttery feelings immediately forgotten. He may have loved Fenris, but that didn't mean he was willing to be treated like some defenceless child.

"I'm not _fragile_!"

Fenris stopped walking again, and Anders stopped along with him. "In many ways, you are strong and capable," Fenris acknowledged, "but you do not even wear armour."

Though being called strong and capable was pleasing, it wasn't enough to appease Anders. "As if a few pieces of stupid metal do much in a battle! I'm not some useless damsel in distress, and you're not a noble knight who needs to watch over me every moment. I'm a mage, I'm a bloody Grey Warden, I've kept myself alive this—"

"Anders," Fenris interrupted him gently. "I simply wish to protect you."

That might have made a weaker man swoon. Not Anders though. He crossed his arms on his chest. "What if I said I wished to protect _you_ , huh?"

"I would appreciate your kindness."

Anders could detect no trace of guile in Fenris's voice. He stared. "What? Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Huh." Anders shook his head. He hadn't expected that, but damn if it wasn't nice—it seemed like the kind of thing someone who loved you would say.

Ahead of them, Hawke turned to glance over his shoulder and gave them a suspicious look. "If you two are fighting behind my back, I'm sending you both home!" he called.

Anders waved a hand at him. "We'll be good, I promise."

Varric glanced at them too and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he shrugged and turned to walk ahead again. Hawke gave them another suspicious look.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you," he warned.

"I told you we'll be good," Anders said. "Won't we, elf?"

Fenris only scoffed, but the look he gave Anders after Hawke had turned his back to them again was still gentle. Anders decided that he could let the elf protect him if it was so important.

And he'd do his share and protect Fenris the best he could too; it was only fair.

The rain began after midnight, cold and heavy, and Anders found himself growing worried of Fenris.

They'd been through yet another fight, and Fenris was leaning against the alley wall, shrouded in mist left behind when Anders' fire had mixed with the pouring rain. The water had already washed away most of the blood on Fenris and plastered his hair against his head. He was breathing hard, one fisted hand pressed to his chest, and that couldn't mean anything good.

"Are you hurt?" Anders reached out, fingers already glowing blue with magic.

Fenris pushed his hand away. The lyrium under his gauntlet flared at the momentary contact.

"I'm fine. Do not."

Anders let the magic fade. "You sure?" His fingers itched to wipe away the strands of wet hair stuck on Fenris's forehead. "You look… You look tired."

Fenris straightened and tossed his head back. The movement send droplets of rainwater cascading around him. "I'm sure. Come on." He nodded towards their companions. "The others may need you."

Anders followed him, but he couldn't stop worrying over the elf. Fenris was usually much better at hiding his exhaustion, and though Anders did not like him doing that, it was at least normal. This wasn't.

He couldn't dwell on that for long, though. Hawke had gotten a deep cut on his side and another on his thigh, and they were both bleeding a lot more than Anders would have liked. He'd used a lot of his magic tonight and was running out of mana, and he could only hope he had enough strength left to heal Hawke.

It turned out he did, but only barely. The flow of blood waned under his fingers and damaged flesh knitted itself together. Soon, the faint frown of pain at Hawke's brow eased, and Anders lifted his hand from the injury. He found himself staggering a little as he stepped away from Hawke.

Aveline caught him by the arm. "All right there?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Just… No one get hurt for a while, because right now I can't help."

She gave him a concerned look. "It's been a long night." She turned to look at Hawke. "Maybe it's time to go home."

For a moment, Hawke looked as if he would argue with her, but in the end, he nodded. "You're right. We're done for the night."

Anders let out a long sigh of relief, thankful for Aveline for being the voice of reason. He'd been through much worse than this, but he was tired, and more importantly, he wanted to get Fenris out of the rain and into a warm, comfortable bed. Preferably Anders', if he had any say in that, of course.

They bid each other good night and began to head towards their respective homes. Anders gave Fenris a careful look and, after checking the others were out of earshot, said, "Come home with me?"

Fenris answered with a faint smile. "Of course."

Anders didn't even try to hide his delight. If he'd been sure no one could see them, he would have kissed the elf.

The rain continued as they walked back to Darktown in comfortable silence, side by side.

Inside the clinic it was dry, if not too warm, and they hung their wet clothes to dry the best they could before they curled into the bed, Fenris once again mostly on top of Anders. Anders pulled the covers over them, glad that he could share the heat of Fenris's body. He hated being cold.

"I could sleep for a week," he muttered.

Fenris yawned and squeezed him close. "I fear you won't have that long."

Anders sighed. "I guess I'd better make the most of what I do have." He pushed his fingers through Fenris's still-damp hair. "Sleep well, beautiful."

Fenris mumbled something back, his voice muffled against Anders' chest. He probably fell asleep soon after, but Anders couldn't be sure; he drifted off even before the elf.

They slept in the next morning. Even Justice was willing to let Anders stay in bed a little longer than usual, aware that a human body had its limits, but eventually, they dragged themselves up. It was still raining outside, heavy and endless, and for a foolish moment, Anders imagined spending the day together with Fenris, curled in front of a fire to keep the damp chill out.

They both had things to do, Justice reminded him, and with a heavy sigh, Anders settled for a few sweet kisses. Fenris was willing and very warm in his arms, and Anders ached for him to stay. He didn't say anything, but the way Fenris clung to him made him think the elf didn't want to leave either.

Long after Fenris had walked out, Anders could still feel the heated touch of his lips on his own. It wasn't as good as having Fenris there, but it was enough to keep him feeling warm all day.


	19. In Which Fenris Is Unwell

Loud banging woke up Anders. It sounded as if someone was trying to kick down his front door. He staggered to his feet, disoriented and eyes bleary with sleep.

The banging continued.

"Anders!"

He recognised Hawke's voice, and that got him moving. Stumbling a little, he dragged on his trousers and rushed across his dark clinic, the floor cold under his bare feet. He had just enough presence of mind to be glad that Fenris hadn't been there that night; he couldn't imagine what would happen if Hawke discovered them sleeping together. The levels of awkwardness would set a new record.

When he opened the door, he found Hawke standing outside with an unmoving Fenris cradled in his arms.

Anders had to catch himself on the doorframe as his world seemed to tilt, going dark at the edges. Justice was very quiet and still inside him. Suddenly, it seemed being caught in bed with the elf would have been a much smaller problem.

"What—?" he began.

_You very rarely come here to ask me to heal someone_.

He should have kept his mouth shut.

Hawke pushed in past him. Both he and Fenris were dripping rainwater, and Hawke had Fenris's sword slung over his shoulder beside his own. There was no blood that Anders could see, but Fenris's beautiful skin looked ashen.

"What happened?" Anders managed as he pulled the door closed. He could hear the worry sharp in his voice and told himself to calm down. Whatever it was, he could deal with it. He'd seen it all and healed most of it; this couldn't be anything beyond his skills.

Hawke shook his head. "I don't… He just collapsed." He laid Fenris down on one of the cots and turned to look at Anders. "I think he has fever. He never said anything—"

He looked so distraught that Anders' heart ached, and he pushed his own worry aside. "It's all right, Hawke. I'll take care of him."

Carefully, Anders sat on the edge of the cot beside the elf and touched his forehead. It was hot against his skin in sharp contrast to the coolness of the rainwater caught in Fenris's hair.

Hawke laid Fenris's sword on the floor and dropped to sit on the opposite edge of the cot. The cot creaked under their combined weight, but held. "You're sure you can fix him?"

Hand still resting on Fenris's forehead, Anders glanced at Hawke and gave him a faint smile. "I can fix almost anything." Fenris's fever was high, but it was only fever, and that was much better than the vague horrors Anders' mind had conjured when Hawke had carried the elf in.

"Right. Of course you can." Hawke shifted, looking uncomfortable, and reached out as if to touch Fenris's face before he changed his mind and let his arm fall.

Anders lowered his hand to Fenris's neck where he could feel the elf's pulse. It was steady, though not as strong as he would have liked, and the feverish heat of Fenris's skin almost burned his palm. When he let his hand travel lower to Fenris's chest, Anders could feel the rasp in each of the elf's laboured breaths. The fever must have gone into his lungs.

This was why Fenris had been so tired the previous night. No one had realised it, but he'd been sick the whole time they'd been out there clearing up the streets, and now he'd done the same again tonight and paid for it.

Anders felt a sharp prick of guilt in his chest. He was a healer, and as such, he should have seen it, especially since he'd had Fenris in his bed too. He should have been more observant and done his blighted job.

Fenris could have said something about it to Anders too, but apparently, he'd decided to be difficult about being healed. The idiot. He almost deserved to have collapsed.

Anders called his magic and let it sink into the elf's body. With Fenris unconscious, the lyrium in his skin didn't respond to it and stayed pale white, and Anders had no trouble controlling the flow of magic. He let it spread though Fenris's entire body, creating a bright blue halo around him, wiping away both the illness and the few cuts and bruises Fenris had acquired in fight.

He may have given a little more of his magic than he usually did, letting the excess of mana cradle Fenris in the way Anders himself couldn't with Hawke there, but eventually, he was done. Fenris's breathing had eased, his fewer gone and his heartbeat was back to its usual strength. Anders let the magic fade, pulled back his hand and let out a heavy sigh, and inside him, Justice relaxed too.

After pouring that much magic into Fenris, he felt a bit shaky. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing as steadily as he could for a moment. When he opened his eyes, Hawke was looking at him, head tilted in concern.

"All right there?"

"I'm fine," Anders said. "Fenris will be too."

Hawke glanced at the elf. "Are you sure? He's still unconscious."

"He needs to rest, he'll be fine," Anders reassured him. "You don't get this worried when someone's wounded."

"That's different." Hawke shifted and touched Fenris's hand. "That's _normal_. Wounds happen when you fight. This…" He gestured helplessly. "He's _ill_ , Anders."

Anders supposed it made sense. Hawke was a warrior, used to blood and injuries, but sickness was something he had to see so rarely. Anders dealt it with every day and had seen all forms of it, but for Hawke, it was something unfamiliar and strange and thus frightening.

Especially when one of his companions was affected.

"He'll be his usual insufferable self tomorrow, trust me." He gave Hawke a quick once-over. "Any injuries you need to have healed?"

Hawke waved a hand at him. "Nothing worse than bruises. Let's not strain you any further because of them."

Anders didn't argue; he trusted Hawke to tell him if he needed healing. "Fine. Help me get Fenris out of this stupid armour, then."

"He won't like that," Hawke said, though his hands were already at work on the buckles of Fenris's breastplate.

"He'll be more comfortable _not_ encased in a ridiculous amount of cold metal, not to mention wet clothing," Anders said as he reached for the gauntleted hand nearest him. "Right now, I'm more interested in him resting properly than anything else." He gave Hawke a quick smile. "If he gets angry, I'll tell him you did it. At least he won't kill you."

Hawke snorted.

Working together, it didn't take them long to take off the armour, and then the rest of Fenris's clothing. The elf looked vulnerable lying there naked, and Anders wasn't too happy about Hawke seeing him like that. Quickly, he snatched a blanket from another cot and covered Fenris with it the best he could.

For a while, Hawke and Anders kept sitting on opposite edges of the cot, watching Fenris. Hawke seemed unwilling to leave, his worry over Fenris obvious despite Anders' reassurances, and Anders couldn't blame him. The elf had scared them both.

Anders wished he could pet Fenris's hair, wrap him in all the blankets he could find and cradle the idiot of an elf in his arms until morning. With Hawke there, he had to settle for patting the back of Fenris's hand, the touch inadequate but at least a little comforting.

Hawke kept stroking Fenris's hair with one large hand, pushing damp white strands away from his forehead, fingers brushing across the three dots of lyrium Fenris had there.

"I didn't even know he could get sick like this," Hawke said.

"Everyone gets sick, and Fenris doesn't always take the best possible care of himself."

Hawke nodded. His hand stopped its stroking and settled to rest on Fenris's hair, a few locks tangled around his fingers. Anders thought of all the times when it had been his own hand there while Fenris slept in his arms, and had to suppress the urge to bat Hawke's hand away.

He wondered if there was a way to say, 'Could you carry him to my bed?' without sounding like a total creep. In the end, he had to admit there probably wasn't. It was a shame, since he feared he wasn't strong enough to carry Fenris himself without risking damage to one or both of them.

He sighed.

"You should go home, Hawke. Get out of those wet clothes before you'll make yourself sick too, and get some sleep. Fenris will be fine."

"I know." Hawke gave him a smile and with one final stroke though Fenris's hair, pushed himself up from the edge of the cot. "Lucky we have such a great healer."

Anders smiled back. "I'm the greatest."

"You are," Hawke agreed without a moment's hesitation or any hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Tell Fenris I'll be very cross with him if he's rude to you tomorrow after you so generously healed him."

Anders could feel his smile widening. "I'll make absolutely sure to let him know."

After Hawke was gone, Anders got the covers from his own bed for Fenris; the last thing he wanted was the elf getting cold now.

It felt good to be able to take care of Fenris, he thought as he wrapped the blankets around him. It felt right. This was where Anders belonged: in Kirkwall, in the relative safety of his clinic, tending the one he loved. He was annoyed with Fenris for not coming to him sooner, but at least his elf was fine now. He'd been lucky he'd been with Hawke who was strong enough to carry him around.

Gently, Anders pushed damp hair out of Fenris's forehead. Hawke had done the same, and Anders wondered if he was trying to erase Hawke's touch and replace it with his own.

Had Fenris bedded Hawke too, he wondered with a trace of bitterness. Had he curled around Hawke's large body the same way he curled around Anders, gentle and protective? Had he kissed Hawke with that soft mouth and marked him with those sharp teeth, touched him with his strong, skilled hands? Had he whispered Hawke's name in that gentle way of his that could break a man's heart?

Anders shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. Whatever Fenris had done with others was none of his business. Fenris was with him now, and however he was supposed to define their relationship, at least it seemed that they were exclusive. If he had given to Hawke what he was giving to Anders now, it was in the past and, if Anders could do anything about it, would not happen again.

He leant down to peck Fenris on the forehead and then turned to shed his trousers before curling into a cot beside the elf's. He settled on his side facing Fenris and pulled the covers around himself, and watching the elf, drifted into sleep.

Anders wasn't surprised to find himself awake before Fenris the next morning. For a while, he lay in the cot, watching Fenris just as he'd watched him the night before. Curled into himself, with the covers pulled up to his chin and his hair sticking to every direction, the elf looked small and frail and very young. It was an illusion, but it made Anders want to protect him, to be a shield between him and the rest of the world.

Fenris had told him he could do that. Most of the time, the elf was his shield, had sometimes been even before they'd ended up in bed together, but Anders wanted to do his share and stand between Fenris and at least some of the dangers he had to face. Fenris was as strong and deadly as his sword, but as a healer, Anders knew all too well how fragile life was. He would go far to protect Fenris's—and so would Justice.

He would have liked to lie there in the cot, watching Fenris sleep for a little longer, but he didn't have the time. Reluctantly, he dragged himself up and got dressed. It would be best to get Fenris up and to Anders' own bed before the patients started arriving. He didn't want Fenris there among them, and he didn't want the elf going home either. Fenris was most likely fine, but it was better to let him rest for a bit. Healed or not, staying up most of the night in cold rain took its toll on anyone's body.

He sat down on the edge of the cot beside Fenris's hip and reached to stroke Fenris's cheek with his fingers.

"Fenris," he called gently.

Fenris's eyes fluttered open. He stared up at Anders, sleepy and confused. He looked way too adorable.

"Hello there," Anders said. He let his fingers slide into Fenris's messy hair and smiled at the elf. "How are you feeling?"

"I—" he blinked at Anders. "What—?"

"You are an idiot," Anders explained. That got him a sharp look, and he couldn't help his smile widening. "Hawke brought you here after you _passed out_ , you utter moron. Why were you out there in pouring rain, waving your stupid sword around, when you weren't feeling well?"

Fenris was quiet for a moment, as if searching for the answer.

"Hawke said he needed me."

"Yes, and then you went and scared him by collapsing. Good job, elf."

Fenris frowned. "I did not intend to."

" _Obviously_." Anders let his thumb stroke across the soft skin under one brilliant green eye. Fenris was warm, but there was no trace of the previous night's feverish heat anymore. Still, Anders didn't think it was wise for him to go home yet. One day of rest would do him wonders.

He took a deep breath and prepared for battle. "Listen, I want you to stay here today so I can keep an eye on you."

"I am fine," Fenris muttered and pushed himself up from the cot. He didn't seem to care that he was naked.

Anders caught him by the elbow and yanked him to sit down. "Did I mention that you _passed out_ because instead of resting, you were outside doing Hawke's bidding? Excuse me if I don't trust your judgement right now."

Fenris glared at him. Anders glared right back.

"Hawke said he'd be very cross with you if you were rude to me, so you'd better behave, because trust me, I'm not above telling him."

Fenris scoffed, apparently not too intimidated by Hawke's potential wrath.

Anders decided to try another tactic. "You got Hawke and me worried last night." He took Fenris's hand in his own. "I just want to be sure you're all right. You promised I could protect you sometimes. This is me doing that."

Frowning, Fenris turned his gaze away. The fingers of his free hand were fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "Fine. I will stay."

That had actually been easier than Anders had thought it would be. The elf had to be feeling the aftereffects of his illness still, even though he looked healthy enough. A day's rest was absolutely necessary.

"Good." Anders gave a gentle squeeze to Fenris's hand. "One day here won't do you any harm."

Fenris's only answer was a shrug.

They shared a quick breakfast sitting side-by-side on the edge of Anders' bed, Fenris wrapped in blankets. Fenris's clothes were still damp, and Anders wasn't going to let him wear them, which he made clear once they were done eating.

Fenris was not too happy to hear that.

"Do you expect me to lie naked in your bed all day, waiting for you?" The elf gave him an offended look. "That will _not_ happen."

As delightful as that sounded, Anders could imagine how distracted he would be just thinking about that. It was better to have Fenris dressed in _something_ for the sake of both of their dignity.

"You can wear my clothes." Anders dug out one of his spare shirts and a pair of trousers and offered them to the elf.

Fenris gave him and the clothes a doubtful look. "That's stupid."

"Well too bad then. I'm not going to let you wear anything that's damp. Either you'll stay wrapped in blankets today, or you'll settle for my clothes. Your choice."

Grumbling to himself, Fenris accepted Anders' clothes and dragged them on, his reluctance clear in every sharp movement.

Anders found that he rather liked seeing Fenris wearing his clothes. The sleeves of his shirt were a little long, as were the legs of the trousers, and it made Fenris seem small and delicate and rather cute—a word Anders would have never said out loud to the elf. It didn't help that his hair was still sticking up in every possible direction, white and soft like dandelion fluff. Apparently, Fenris did have to make some kind of effort to keep his hair looking nice, at least sometimes.

"I look ridiculous," the elf stated as he dropped to sit on the bed.

In all honesty, Anders couldn't deny it. That didn't change the fact that he wouldn't have objected seeing Fenris in his clothes a lot more. After the way Hawke had touched Fenris the previous night, it woke up something both possessive and triumphant in him.

"Well, that'll ensure you won't be walking out of here while I'm distracted by my work."

Fenris huffed and gave Anders a narrow-eyed look. Anders ignored it and leant in to press a kiss on Fenris's cheek. "I've got other patients to take care of now. Be good for me, all right?" He smoothed down a few strands of the elf's messy hair with one hand.

Fenris pushed him away. "You think yourself so amusing, don't you, mage?"

"I'm serious," Anders told him. "No getting out of the bed if you absolutely do not need to. You're going to sleep, all right?"

Fenris let out a heavy sigh full of annoyance. "Fine," he said.

Anders patted his cheek. "That's my good darling."

He got another glare for that, but he felt it wasn't as serious as it could have been.

Hawke was back mid-morning.

"How's our broody patient?"

"Much better," Anders told him. "I didn't want him scaring everyone else, so he's in the back."

"Good thinking," Hawke said. "Do you mind if I go see him?"

Anders realised he didn't like the thought of letting Hawke be alone with Fenris. "I'll come with you," he said quickly. "I was just about to go check up on him anyway."

He didn't need Justice telling him that his jealousy was definitely not justified.

Side by side, they walked to where Fenris was lying under the covers in bed, looking annoyed and bored.

"How are you feeling?" Hawke asked. If he realised that Fenris was wearing Anders' shirt, he made no comment of it.

"I'm fine," Fenris said. "Tell the mage I don't need to stay here any longer."

"The mage is not going to listen," Anders said before Hawke had a chance to answer. Fenris threw him a scathing look. With years of experience, Anders ignored it and turned towards Hawke. "The fever had gone to his lungs. That's not a joking matter. He should stay in bed until tomorrow."

"You heard the healer," Hawke said to Fenris. "Stay in bed." He smiled gently. "And please don't scare me like that again."

Fenris looked embarrassed. "I apologise."

"There, there." Hawke patted Fenris's head and was rewarded with an offended look. He either didn't notice it, or he was as good at ignoring Fenris's moods as Anders was, despite not being forced to endure the elf at his worst the way Anders had for years. "Just ask Anders for help when needed instead of pretending you're fine, you hear me?"

"I hear you," Fenris said.

Which wasn't actually him agreeing to be healed—they needed to have a serious talk about that when they were alone again—but Hawke seemed convinced enough.

"Good." He turned back to Anders. "Is he going to be all right tomorrow?"

"He is," Anders promised. "Don't worry. You can go back to running him ragged just fine."

Satisfied with that, Hawke bid them both goodbye and left.

Anders lingered a moment longer beside Fenris's bed. He made sure there were no more prying eyes looking at them and leant down to give the elf a quick kiss. "Just stay there and sleep. It'll be evening before you know, and then I'll be back to keep you company."

Fenris caught him by the collar and kissed him. "I will hold you on to that."

Anders couldn't help grinning. " _Good_."

The rest of the day went by more slowly than Anders could have ever thought.

He kept imagining Fenris, lying in his bed, _dressed in his clothes_ , and it was driving him mad. He wanted nothing more than to lie down right next to the elf and peel him out of them and touch him.

Fenris was right there instead of far away in Hightown, and Anders missed him more than ever. That was ridiculous.

Somehow, he managed to struggle through the day, distracted and hopelessly in love as he was, and then finally his clinic was empty of patients except for Fenris. Relieved, Anders closed and locked the door and went to the elf.

He was a little bit surprised that Fenris had stayed in the bed the whole day, but there he was, lying on his back on top of the sheets with his hands crossed on his chest.

"How's my favourite patient?"

"Bored to death," Fenris said.

"I know. Shall I entertain you to make up for that?"

Fenris's mouth tilted into a faint smile as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "I could be persuaded to let you do that."

" _Good_." Anders pressed a kiss on his forehead. "But first, dinner." He grinned and offered his hand to Fenris. "Isn't it nice, _I_ get to feed _you_ today."

Fenris smiled at that too.

They ate their dinner mostly in silence, but Anders could feel the tension surrounding them. Neither of them was sitting still, and whenever Anders glanced up, he found Fenris looking at him.

More than once, he almost told Fenris to forget the food and have him right there on the floor. He didn't think he would have regretted that, but somehow, he managed to restrain himself anyway. There were a few things they needed to discuss, and he preferred doing that before they got too distracted.

Besides, there was something he was dying to try out if he could talk Fenris into it.

When they were finally done with their meal, Anders gathered their empty plates and cups.

"Next time," he said as he dunked them into a basin and poured water on them, "let me heal you when you notice you're getting sick. I know you hate showing any kind of weakness, but I'd like to think you trust me enough to ask for help when you really need it, right? If I'm allowed to protect you, then I should also be allowed to heal you. You've always let me do that before."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, staring at the floor. Anders didn't rush him. Instead, he focused on washing the dishes and then setting them to dry as he waited.

When the elf answered, he was still not looking at Anders. "You remember your healing seems to have a certain … _effect_ on us both these days, don't you?"

Which brought Anders to the topic he'd wanted to approach. How convenient. He wiped his hands dry and turned to Fenris. "Sure. That's why I could do it in _private_." He reached out and cupped Fenris's cheek, coaxing the elf to face him again. "Behind closed doors, said effect could be _rather_ beneficial for us both, don't you think?"

Fenris swallowed.

"You don't like magic and Maker knows you have valid reasons for that, but it can be good." He offered Fenris a gentle smile. "How about you let me show you how very good I can make it in the right circumstances?"

Fenris looked at him with hesitant eyes.

"I will stop if you tell me to," Anders promised. "I won't do anything that would hurt you in any way. You know that." He paused. "Don't you?"

"I know that," Fenris said. His eyes narrowed. "I'm not _afraid_ of you."

"I never said you were." He stroked his thumb across Fenris's cheekbone. "Say yes. Say that I can."

Fenris was quiet for a moment. His gaze drifted. "Yes." The elf's eyes returned to meet Anders' with only a hint of reluctance lingering in them. "You can."

Anders couldn't help grinning as he pulled Fenris into a heated kiss.


	20. In Which Magic Is in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now [amazing fan art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783822) for this chapter by [DragonDracarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDracarys/pseuds/DragonDracarys), check it out. If you have a Pillowfort account, please give the artist some love [here](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1099289)!
> 
> (I am over the moon about this shit, you people can't even imagine.)

"You should wear my clothes more often," Anders said, his eyes travelling up and down Fenris's naked body. "I can get you out of them so _quickly_."

Fenris snorted. "Says the man who wears a layer upon layer of clothing." He shoved Anders' trousers and smalls down to his feet. "It takes unforgivably long to undress you, mage."

"You have perfected getting me naked to an artform." He caught Fenris by the waist and pulled him close. "It would be an insult to your considerable abilities to wear anything less."

"Idiot," Fenris said, wrapped his arms around Anders' neck, and kissed him.

Anders tightened his hold of Fenris, enjoying the feel of their naked bodies pressed together. Fenris's skin was so soft against his, and the lyrium markings were a promise of pleasure to come.

Fenris released Anders' mouth and left a trail of kisses down Anders' neck, all soft lips and a wicked hint of teeth, but when he reached the junction of Anders' neck and shoulder, he paused and pulled back. His fingers whispered over Anders' skin, the touch so light it was barely there. "Did I do this to you?"

"What?" It took Anders a moment to remember the precious teeth marks Fenris had left on him. "Oh. Yes. You very much did. Who else would I let close enough to get their teeth on me?" He grinned at Fenris. "Had you pegged as a biter from the start, elf."

Fenris's fingers trailed over the mark again, this time with enough pressure bring back the familiar low ache. "Why haven't you healed it?"

Anders shrugged and hoped it looked casual. "It's a bruise, it'll heal on its own. And besides," he added in a bout of honesty, "I don't really mind a mark or two."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "You do not?" He shifted closer, and then pressed his lips on Anders' skin right next to the fading bruise. There was a hint of teeth again, not hard enough to leave another mark, but enough to hurt, if only a little.

"Hey," Anders warned, though he didn't do anything to stop Fenris. "That's not a permission to leave me bruised all over!"

Fenris licked over the indentations his teeth must have left and lifted his head. "No?"

"No. And if you _dare_ to leave a mark I'll have to explain to anyone else, I'll set you on _fire_."

"You could heal any mark I leave on you," Fenris said, his voice low and soft as his breath whispered over Anders' skin. "If anyone sees them, it's your own fault." His mouth touched Anders' throat, following the tendon upwards, teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin until he reached the corner of Anders' jaw. "What if I bit you right here?"

"Don't you dare," Anders warned, though he did nothing to push Fenris away. "Weren't you upset because you bruised me not long ago?"

That seemed to give Fenris a pause. "I did not mean to, then." He nuzzled Anders' jaw. "I didn't know you liked marks."

"I didn't say I liked them, I said I don't mind them," Anders corrected. Liking them may have been closer to the truth, but he was not going to admit that out loud. "And _only_ if no one else can see them, you hear me, elf?"

Fenris laughed against his skin. "Maybe I shall be kind."

"You'd better, if you're planning to bed me tonight," Anders muttered.

"I shall be kind," Fenris promised and left a gentle kiss on Anders' throat.

He didn't sound as if he took the threat very seriously, but Anders decided to let it slide and pulled Fenris into a kiss. Fenris lips parted to allow Anders access as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His mouth was warm and sweet on Anders', and as eager as the hands keeping Anders' body close to his.

Anders broke the kiss with another on Fenris's jaw, and then trailed kisses down the elf's neck. "What if I started leaving marks all over _your_ body?" he murmured against soft skin before letting his teeth graze it.

Fenris caught him by the hair and yanked his head back, and then, faster than Anders could follow, he twirled them around and shoved Anders backwards.

Anders ended up on his back in the bed, laughing, with a glaring Fenris on top of him.

"You bloody hypocrite!" Anders accused, trying to catch his breath and still giggling.

"I am _not_."

"Yes you are." Anders pushed the fringe away from Fenris's eyes, smiling up at the elf. "But maybe that's all right because there's something I can do to you and you can't do to me."

Fenris frowned. "What are you talking—" His words were broken off with a sharp gasp as Anders called magic to the fingers trailing along Fenris's hairline. The elf's tattoos flared and he cursed under his breath, and Anders laughed again.

"See? I think we may be even anyway."

"You—"

Fenris seemed to be at a loss of words, and Anders took advantage of the situation and trailed glowing fingers down his cheek and slender neck, following the curve of the bright-blue markings there. Fenris shuddered and his eyelids fluttered. He was hardening where he was pressed to Anders' hip and his breathing had gone ragged.

Anders had rarely met others as sensitive to his magic. It was such a gift to have Fenris under his hands like this. The elf knew very well that magic could hurt, no doubt had been hurt by it enough times; it was only fair to show him that it could feel good too.

"You—you're doing that because of the lyrium," Fenris managed. "Because of what—because—"

"You can't blame me for liking how it feels." Anders allowed his fingers to trace the glowing brands to Fenris's chest, his skin tingling at the contact. "But I'm equally interested in making you go mad."

"Impertinent," Fenris said. He still sounded breathless, and probably a lot fonder than he'd intended.

Anders snorted. "Yes. I think we've established that I am, rather comprehensively." He caught Fenris by the hips and rolled them over so that Fenris was on his back and Anders was hovering over him, straddling his waist. "Now, let me work my magic on you."

Fenris gave him a narrow-eyed look. The effect was somewhat ruined by his panting breaths and obvious arousal, and Anders leant down to kiss the tip of his nose. Fenris tried to keep glaring at him, but the corner of his mouth was curving upwards, and Anders could only smile back at him.

Anders caught Fenris's hands with his own still glowing with magic and pinned them to the bedding, and Fenris went rigid under him, eyes wide. For a moment, he wasn't even breathing.

Cursing, Anders released Fenris's hands and let the magic dissipate. "Shit. Sorry. Sorry."

There were things one did not do to a former slave of a magister, and pinning them down without a warning while using magic on them was high on that list. He'd been lucky Fenris had frozen instead of lashing out.

"Are you all right? I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, uncertain.

"I…" Fenris swallowed. His eyes were still wide and he was glowing bright. "It's fine." He looked at Anders, his body slowly relaxing as his markings dimmed. "I trust you."

Something clenched in Anders' chest. He had seen that trust, been acutely aware of it, but hearing Fenris actually say it left him speechless for a moment. It wasn't a confession of undying love, but somehow it felt like one, just a little.

With utmost care, he reached for Fenris's hand and laced their fingers together, pressing the hand to the sheets beside Fenris's head. Fenris's breathing had gone steady and controlled the way it did before battle, but he didn't tense up this time.

"I don't want to hurt you," Anders said. He cupped Fenris's cheek with his free hand. "You know that."

"I know that," Fenris said. "Please. Continue." He gave Anders a faint smile. "I will not harm you even if you startle me. Not here. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. You're worried."

"It's perfectly natural to be uncomfortable with magic after years and years of being a magister's slave, I'll have you know," Fenris stated.

Anders laughed. "I know. But I'm no magister. I don't want to own you or control you. I just want to make you feel good."

"I know."

Anders smiled, and called magic to his hands, one still holding Fenris's hand pinned to the sheets beside the elf's head, the other on Fenris's cheek. Fenris shivered, and then relaxed, and Anders trailed his hand down Fenris's arm as the other slide over the elf's neck and to his chest, the lyrium markings lighting up in the wake of his touch again. The heat of them sank into his own skin and made him _want_.

"It's not the lyrium that reacts," he said as he traced his hand down Fenris's flat belly.

"It"—Fenris swallowed, his voice gone hoarse—"it seems a lot as if it is, to me."

With his hand resting on Fenris's hip, Anders stilled. "It may, sure. But it's not the lyrium. It's you."

Fenris frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I healed you last night when you were unconscious, remember? No fireworks for Hawke and me to admire."

The elf blinked up at him, confusion clear on his face.

"You don't do it consciously, of course, but it's you." What he didn't say was that there hadn't been any fireworks before they'd started sleeping together; they were both well aware of that. He didn't mention that Fenris could probably learn to suppress the reaction either—that was the last thing he wanted. "Interesting, isn't it?"

"I don't know what…"

"Just an observation," Anders told him. He let his hand travel back up Fenris's chest until it was resting over the elf's heart, beating fast and steady under his touch. "It feels lovely, you know. You can't understand how your lyrium interacts with my magic, but Maker, it's _good_."

"I'm glad."

Anders laughed.

"I want you inside me, just like this: pinned down by my weight and shining like a star. Can I have that?"

"You can have anything you want," Fenris whispered.

 _Then tell me you love me_ , Anders thought, but didn't say. Instead, he reached for the pot of grease and slicked Fenris up. Fenris gasped with each movement of Anders' fingers on him, writhing under him, and Anders couldn't help giving him a few more strokes just to hear him struggle for breath before settling to hover above the elf, fingers tight around him.

"Do you remember when I told you I didn't want you to beg that time?" he asked.

Fenris's breath caught and his eyes went wide. Anders grinned.

"I—please." Fenris was tense under Anders, sweat already gleaming on his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Please, let me have you. Please."

Maker, that sounded good. "As you wish," Anders said.

He guided Fenris to the right place and as slowly as he could bear, lowered himself down, down until he was sitting on Fenris's hips, the elf all the way inside his body. The slow stretch of it ached and burned as Anders waited to adjust to being so filled, and he wouldn't have given it up for anything.

Fenris shivered under him, his eyes scrunched shut and teeth digging into his lower lip. He looked almost pained, ready to fall apart, and Anders revelled in it. It was heady to know it was him making Fenris feel like this, his touch and his magic driving the elf out of his mind.

"Please," Fenris whispered, and Anders smiled and rocked his hips, just a little, just enough to feel Fenris shift inside him but not enough to satisfy either of them.

"Say my name," he demanded.

Fenris blinked his eyes open. "Anders. Anders, please, I want you."

That may have been the most beautiful thing Anders had ever heard. Fenris used his name so rarely that every time he did was special.

"Again," he said.

"Anders. Anders, Anders, Anders…"

He bent down until the tip of his nose almost touched Fenris's, and the elf gasped as the movement shifted him within Anders.

"I could listen to you saying that all night," Anders said.

"Anders," Fenris breathed. "Oh, _Anders_."

Anders kissed him. His hair fell onto Fenris's face, like a curtain hiding them from the rest of the world. Fenris's lips parted, inviting him in, so willing and sweet that it almost broke Anders' heart.

He wanted to keep kissing like that forever, but eventually, his body's need for more became too much. With some reluctance, he broke the kiss and straightened, rolling his hips gently, and yet again Fenris gasped. The elf's hands came to grip Anders' hips, but they did not push him to move, only clung to him with what felt like desperation. The bright brands of lyrium on his palms set Anders' blood on fire where they touched his skin, so perfect, almost as perfect as Fenris himself.

"You feel so good in me," Anders said. He rocked his hips a little harder, giving them both a hint of what they wanted. "Hot and hard and so, so thick. Maker, the way you fill me, it's almost too much."

Fenris's teeth were digging into his lower lip, and when Anders trailed fingers bright with magic down Fenris's chest, the elf shuddered and bucked up into him. The brilliant blue shine of his markings had Anders shivering and Justice humming with pleasure inside him.

He let the movement of his hips pick up pace, and it didn't take long before Fenris was gasping under him, writhing, thrusting up into Anders the best he could. Each time Anders' glowing fingers passed a particularly sensitive stretch of skin, Fenris shook and the hands on Anders' hips clenched. Strands of white hair were sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his eyes never left Anders'.

The pleasure was building inside Anders until he was aching with it and the rise and fall of his body on Fenris had become near frantic. It would have only taken the touch of lyrium-blue fingers on him to push him over the edge, or a few strokes of his own hand, but he refused to come before Fenris.

He ground his hips down, tightening himself around Fenris as his hands left a trail of magic across Fenris's chest and up his neck. Under the blue glow, his skin looked stark-white against the soft brown of Fenris's.

"Anders," Fenris whispered, like a plea.

He looked ready to shatter under Anders' touch, beautiful, desperate, and Anders was certain no one else had seen him like this before. No one else had taken Fenris apart the way Anders could, because Anders was the only mage Fenris had ever chosen to give himself to. Anders was the only mage Fenris had ever wanted, the only one he trusted.

What they shared was special.

Anders let his magic sink deeper into Fenris's flesh as Fenris filled his body, and the elf cried out his name, hands clenching on Anders's hips as if he was trying to claw himself inside Anders. Shaking, he thrust up, deep and hard and so good, and around them, the room was awash with blue. Fenris's head was tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, his entire body rigid, and then there was familiar, glorious wetness spreading inside Anders.

Anders let his magic fade but kept his hips moving, riding Fenris until it was over and the elf relaxed under him, eyes closed and lips parted, still breathing hard.

It took a while for Fenris to collect himself, but Anders was willing to wait. Hands stroking Fenris's sides he watched as the elf's breathing slowed down and the glow of the lyrium dimmed, and finally, Fenris blinked his eyes open and met Anders' gaze. He still looked a little dazed, but he was smiling.

Anders smiled back and finally wrapped a hand around his own aching flesh, chasing his release. He was close, almost there, and then Fenris's hand joined his, lyrium tattoos bright anew, and it didn't take long before the whole world narrowed down into the pleasure between his legs and Anders was pushed over the edge, shaking with it.

Spent, he slumped forward on top of Fenris, heedless to the mess trapped between their bellies. Fenris's arms came to rest around his waist, and Anders let out a content sigh against the elf's neck. Fenris twisted his head to press a kiss on Anders' hair.

"Now wasn't that good?" Anders asked once he could form words again.

"Don't sound so smug, mage," Fenris warned, but his tone was warm enough that he couldn't mean anything else but yes.

"I have every right to be smug." Anders nuzzled Fenris's ear. "I think I've proven the benefits of magic, haven't I?"

"You are insufferable," Fenris said, another endearment dressed as an insult.

"Yes I am," Anders agreed. He tightened his arms around Fenris and rolled them over so that Fenris was on top of him. The elf settled on him with a pleased little sigh, and Anders pulled the covers over them. He petted Fenris's hair, and Fenris held on to him as if he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever.

 _I love you_ , Anders thought, but it was still too early to say it.

He pushed hair out of Fenris's eyes and remembered Hawke doing the same.

"Fenris, have you ever… Did you, at some point—like, does Hawke…?" he didn't know how to ask.

"What?" Fenris mumbled. He sounded to be struggling to stay awake. "Finish your question or let me _sleep_."

"Have you ever bedded Hawke?" Anders blurted.

Fenris's head jerked up. He seemed much less sleepy all of a sudden. " _What_?" His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide. "Have I ever—why would I have bedded _Hawke_?"

"Why not?" Anders shrugged one shoulder. "He's nice. Attractive enough."

Fenris's previously wide eyes narrowed into green slits. "You find Hawke attractive?"

"No! Well, yes, but that's not the point!"

"Is it not?"

"No!" Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at Fenris over his own hand. "I'm not planning to sleep with Hawke. Ever."

Fenris gave him a suspicious look. Anders did his best to look innocent without having to explain that he was head over heels for Fenris and that alone would keep him far, far away from everyone else's bed. If he'd ever thought of Hawke that way, it had been long before he'd gotten obsessed with Fenris and his lyrium.

It seemed to work well enough. "Fine," Fenris said. He considered Anders for a moment. "What brought this up?"

 _He touched you with such familiarity that I kind of envied him_ , Anders thought but didn't say. "I don't know. Just a thought, I guess," he offered.

"Is it?"

Anders shrugged again. "It's just… You're close. You like him, he likes you." He waved a hand. "I _told_ you, it was just a thought, elf."

Maybe he should have not brought up the whole thing. Hawke was quite a catch, and Anders didn't need Fenris getting any ideas about pursuing him.

"He is my friend," Fenris said. "That has nothing to do with the desire to bed him."

"You seem to have more of a thing for bedding your enemies, to be honest," Anders admitted.

Fenris let out an amused sort of snort. " _You_ started this, mage."

"But aren't you glad that I did?"

Fenris paused, looking at him with thoughtful eyes, as if he was truly considering the question. "Yes," he said. "Yes I am."

As Anders pulled Fenris back into his arms, he found himself feeling rather happy about that.


	21. In Which Anders Can’t Hold His Tongue, and Fenris Breaks a Promise

Anders was the first one awake the following morning again. Fenris was wrapped around him like a vine, breathing slow and steady against his chest, and Anders didn't want to get up. He wanted Fenris to stay, and not just for the day, but forever.

He was probably getting ahead of himself, but one day, he hoped, it could be possible. They'd made so much progress, gotten a lot closer to each other than Anders could have ever dreamt for. Anders could see a future for them, together.

He wanted that future.

He wanted to spend so much time together that the aching red-hot flames of desire finally settled into glowing embers. He wanted them to kiss and kiss until they wouldn't feel the need to do it every day. He wanted them to be able to burn out their passion so that one day, sitting side by side in silence would be enough; the monster of lust would be tamed and they could crawl into a bed together without the desperate need to have each other. He wanted simple things, ordinary things, boring day-to-day routines made important because they shared them.

It had been a long time since he'd imagined that with anyone.

Justice told him to stop dreaming and get to work, but the spirit was just as reluctant to leave Fenris's embrace as Anders was. He was right, though, and with a heavy sigh, Anders gave Fenris a little nudge.

"Time to wake up, I'm afraid," he whispered.

Fenris blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to look at Anders. "Good morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep, and wiggled up enough to press a kiss on Anders' cheek.

"Good morning." Anders brushed Fenris's shaggy fringe off his eyes with one hand. "We need to get up."

Fenris dropped his head and buried his face in Anders' neck for a moment. "I don't want to," he mumbled against Anders' skin.

Anders sighed and squeezed the elf close. Yesterday, Fenris hadn't wanted to stay in bed, but then, he'd been there alone. Anders was glad his presence made a difference. "I don't want to either."

He didn't say that they had to, anyway, but after a moment, Fenris dragged himself up and began to dress—in his own clothes, sadly. Anders followed and reached for his robes, left in a pile on the dusty floor the previous night.

"You'll be back this evening, won't you?" he couldn't help himself asking as he fumbled with his belt.

Fenris looked up from the fastenings of his gauntlet. "Of course." His mouth tilted into a faint smile. "Have I not told you? I sleep better with you. Must be that spell you've clearly put on me, mage."

"You sleep better on top of me," Anders corrected. He couldn't help yanking Fenris back into kissing range and pressing their mouths together. It would take a long while before he would stop wanting to kiss the elf at any given opportunity. "Wrapped around me so that I can't move. Keeping me all trapped with your weight so that even if I wanted, I couldn't get away from you."

"You like that."

Anders hummed against his lips. "That's possible."

"That is a fact," Fenris corrected and kissed him again.

Anders didn't argue. For a while, he rested his forehead against Fenris, the elf's breath ghosting warm over his mouth and neck.

"You really need to go now or I won't let you," he had to force himself to say.

Fenris sighed, gave him one more kiss, and, reluctance clear in his every movement, let go of Anders and slipped out of the clinic.

The elf was back around mid-afternoon. "Mage? A moment of your time, if you don't mind."

Anders looked up from the salve he'd been mixing, surprised and immediately worried to see Fenris at his clinic this early. The elf didn't appear to be hurt, but he didn't make a habit of visiting Anders during the day, at least not to bring any kind of good news.

"Sure." He pushed the salve pot away and caught Fenris's arm. "Come here." He tugged Fenris behind one of the large pillars holding up the ceiling to get them away from prying eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Fenris said quickly. "Not at all."

Anders relaxed. Fenris reached up to brush a stray strand of hair behind Anders' ear, and Anders' heart fluttered. For a moment, the elf seemed to have forgotten what he'd come to say, his gauntleted fingers tangling in Anders' hair and eyes focused on his. Anders didn't mind.

"Hawke needs me again," Fenris said finally. "I may not make it to you tonight. I know I promised, but…" He gave an apologetic shrug.

Personally, Anders would have categorised that as something being very wrong. "You'd better do your best. I'll leave the door unlocked for you, in case he lets you go before morning."

Fenris frowned at him. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"Safe enough. No one in Darktown wants to rob their healer—especially when said healer can set them on fire," Anders told him. "Whenever Hawke finds reason and you can leave, come here, no matter how late it is."

"I will." Fenris shifted a fraction closer and, after a furtive look around, kissed his cheek. "Nothing could keep me away."

Anders smiled. "Good. Don't get yourself hurt."

"With my healer not beside me? Of course not."

Fenris pressed another quick kiss on the corner of his mouth before he turned to walk away. At the door, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, a tiny smile tugging the corner of his pretty mouth as his eyes met Anders'.

 _My healer_ , he'd said. It had to be love, Anders thought as the door closed after the elf.

Morning was already approaching when Anders woke up to soft lips pressing kisses all over his face.

"Fenris," he murmured, blinking his eyes open.

"I thought I would let you sleep, but it seems I cannot resist you." Fenris's lips found his. "I'm sorry for being here so late."

"Hawke's fault, not yours." Still drowsy, Anders pulled him closer, and to his delight, found him naked already. "Come 'ere."

Fenris's fingers slid through Anders' hair, mouth leaving more sweet kisses on his face. He pushed the covers aside and settled on top of Anders, all soft, warm skin and lean muscle against Anders' body.

Anders felt a lot more awake already.

"Come on, give me what you promised me."

Fenris nuzzled his cheek. "Did I promise you something other than that I would come to you? I don't believe I did."

"Sod you," Anders said. "You know what I want."

"Do I?" Fenris left a soft trail of kisses down Anders' neck. "Is it more kisses?"

Anders dragged Fenris's head up by the hair. "I always want more kisses. You have the loveliest mouth in Kirkwall, elf."

"Idiot," Fenris said. He cupped Anders' cheek, thumb brushing across his lips. For a while, all he did was look at Anders, his eyes gentle, and then he leant back down to seal their mouths together again. The kiss was almost unbearably sweet, and Anders pulled Fenris closer and breathed in the familiar scent of his skin.

Their kisses grew more heated as their legs tangled together. Fenris was already hard against Anders' hip, leaving faint, sticky smears on his skin, and Anders was getting there fast too. He spread his thighs and pulled up his knees so that Fenris could settle between them, and the elf made a satisfied sound as his hardness made contact with Anders'.

Anders reached for the jar of grease without looking, found it and fumbled it open. Distantly, he noticed it was emptying at an alarming rate as he pushed it into Fenris's hands. "You know what to do with this."

Without a word, Fenris accepted the jar and slicked himself. Anders followed the movement of his hand, the way the muscles on his arm shifted under the skin, already impatient to have the elf inside him. How long would it take to sate this need, he wondered, how many nights did they have to spend together before he could look at the elf and not yearn to be taken right at that very moment?

Many more than they'd already shared, he decided as Fenris guided one of Anders' legs up so that Anders' calf was resting on the elf's shoulder. Anders wrapped the other one around Fenris's waist. He looked up, meeting Fenris's eyes, and Fenris gave him a faint smile before he took himself in hand and pushed inside Anders.

Anders groaned, the leg he had around Fenris's waist clenching. The slow, steady slide into him felt as good and right as it always did, the aching pleasure of it almost unbearable already. Their bodies had been made for this, meant to be together.

All the way inside Anders, Fenris stilled and let out a low, satisfied sigh. "I can feel how relaxed you are, all soft and sweet from sleep."

Anders snorted. "I'm not soft _everywhere_."

Fenris's mouth quirked into smile. "No. Not everywhere." The hand that wasn't keeping Anders leg on his shoulder made its way where Anders was definitely very hard and wrapped around him, still slick with grease, and Anders' hips bucked up. Fenris hummed and gave Anders a slow, easy thrust.

Every slide into Anders' body after that was like the first, confident and unhurried. Fenris felt so thick inside him, filling him exactly the way he needed, pressing against all the right places. The bliss of it built slowly, taking Anders higher and higher each time Fenris thrust deep into him, each time the elf's hand stroked him. He was floating, the world beyond his bed meaningless.

He tightened his leg around Fenris's waist, urging the elf to take him a little harder, and Fenris did, the next push into Anders more forceful. Anders reached up and rested his hands on Fenris's sides, and when Fenris filled him again, he could feel the lean muscles under his palms shift.

Fenris's hand on his thigh squeezed, lyrium-marked fingertips pressing into his skin for a moment when he adjusted their positions, and the next thrust was better than the others before. With a low moan, Anders pushed his hips up, eager to take Fenris even deeper into him, and Fenris answered with a shuddery sigh, green eyes falling closed for a moment.

Anders tightened his grip of Fenris's waist and pulled him closer, allowing himself to be bent in half. Fenris's mouth met his in a brief kiss, sweet and gentle enough that Anders hardly felt the ache of his strained muscles.

"Oh, Anders." His name on Fenris's lips was like a caress, like a confession. It made Anders want to laugh, and cry, and never let Fenris go. He kissed the elf again, and Fenris hummed against his mouth.

A few more thrusts, and Anders was close already, almost there, but he didn't want it to be over yet. He wanted more, wanted Fenris to keep taking him, having him, claiming his body until there was nothing left but the pleasure that would always be too much and never enough. Fenris looked at him, eyes focused on his, and if Anders hadn't already been so desperately in love, he would have fallen for the elf at that moment.

"I love you."

The words were out of his mouth before he realised that he'd spoken, as easy as breathing.

Fenris made a sound, sharp and shocked, the kind he'd made when Anders had kissed him for the first time, and froze. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, and he was still so deep inside Anders that it burned.

Anders knew he had made a mistake before Fenris closed his eyes, both hands letting go of him. Moving slowly like a sleepwalker, Fenris pulled out, and Anders had never felt so empty.

This could not be how it ended, for the sake of three stupid words. Could not, _would_ not.

"Wait," he said. "Don't go. We can talk—"

Shaking, Fenris stumbled out of the bed, a strange, blank look on his face. He almost fell on the floor before he could find his balance, and instinctively, Anders reached out and caught his wrist.

Fenris's brands flared and he yanked his arm free, and Anders had no time to brace himself before the back of the elf's hand connected with his cheek.

The rejection hurt more than the slap itself. Anders stared up at Fenris, and Fenris stared back, the elf's face a mask of shock and horror. His hand was still raised, his lyrium glowing fiercely blue. Anders could feel his heart beating his chest, so fast it was painful, so loud Fenris had to be able to hear it in the deadly silence of the room.

 _I know perfectly well where your heart is_ , the elf had said, once, and for a moment, Anders was sure that beautiful slender hand would descend and sink through his ribcage into his chest.

The lyrium dimmed, and Fenris took a few staggering steps away from the bed, grabbed his clothes and began to dress. He wasn't looking anywhere towards Anders.

Anders' cheek stung and so did his eyes, and he turned his own gaze away and tried to keep breathing. There were still words he wanted to say, explanations, apologies, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

Fenris didn't take the time to put on more than his tunic and leggings. With his armour held in his hands, he turned to hurry towards the door, his footsteps almost silent. He hadn't even glanced at Anders again.

"Fenris, wait," Anders tried once more. It came out weak and helpless, and Anders hated himself for that.

The elf stopped at the doorway, his back straight and shoulders tense. He didn't turn to look at Anders. When he spoke, his voice shook with anger. "Do not."

And with that, he was gone, and Anders was alone.

He curled into himself in his lonely bed that smelled of sex and the two of them, and tried to breathe through the pain in his chest. Fenris had been gentle with him, caring, almost loving, all kindness and warmth and affection, and now that was all gone. It felt wrong, yet Anders knew he only had himself to blame. He'd had no right to say those words.

Justice was silent as death inside his head, and Anders almost missed the spirit's voice. _Yell at me. Berate me. Tell me I was stupid, I did wrong. Hate me for driving away the one good thing we had._

Justice didn't respond.

Outside the windows high above Anders' bed, the sky was lightening, Kirkwall waking up to another busy morning. Anders squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the covers over his head, unwilling to face the day without Fenris in his life anymore. He cursed his stupid mouth for being so very fond of speaking out of turn. He cursed his foolish heart for daring to hand itself to the elf, unasked and unwanted.

He did not cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris, what the fuck.


	22. In Which Anders Is Devastated

It was long past midday before Anders forced himself out of the bed and got dressed. He did not want to, but he couldn't lie there forever like some heartsick maiden from a romance story. He was a grown man and needed to act like one and face the facts.

Fenris was gone and wouldn't come back.

Fenris had slapped him, and no doubt he had deserved it for what he'd said.

Anders had fucked up and was alone again, and he had to live with that. It hurt more than he could have ever imagined, so much more than any physical wound he'd ever suffered, but all he could do was to endure it. The pain would ease one day in the distant future if he kept moving forward and let time do its thing.

It would have been easier if he could have been angry. Some small part of him felt that anger would have been right; Fenris had left him for the sake of three stupid words and backhanded him across the cheek for good measure. Some hate would have been more than warranted, but it refused to come.

Anders tied his hair back with the old scrap of leather he'd used before Fenris had given him the green silk ribbon. For a moment, he considered burning the ribbon and pretending it had never existed, but the thought of anything happening to it nearly made him physically ill.

In the end, he stashed it under his pillow. Though he could not bear to wear it anymore, he wanted it close and safe. It was a sign of the connection they'd had, a proof that for a little while, it had been real, even if Fenris had never loved him. At the same time, it was a reminder to never fall in love again. Anders needed to keep it somewhere where he'd never lose it, so that he could look at it if he was ever reckless enough to consider handing his heart to someone else.

Varric had been wrong: Anders was unlucky both at cards and in love. He was not meant to win, no matter what he did. He could have good things in his life for a while, but he would never be able to keep them. They would always slip through his fingers like sand.

Maker, he'd been stupid enough to imagine a future with Fenris! He'd thought they could share more than a bed, more than their nights. Like a fool, he'd believed they could _grow old together_. Fenris had been kind and gentle and taken care of him, and Anders had deluded himself into seeing something in that that had never been there. He'd been so sure Fenris could love him—he'd been such an idiot. Why Fenris had treated him with such tenderness, he would never know, but it had not been out of love.

The truth was that Fenris was far too good for him. Anders had no more right to love someone like him than he had the right to command the sun to rise at night or the tides to cease. It was a wonder the elf had accepted his touch at all; he couldn't ask Fenris to accept his stupid, useless heart, much less to give his own to Anders. Fenris deserved better than a tired, used mage, and they both knew that.

His feet heavy, Anders dragged himself across his clinic, opened the door, lit the lantern by it and tried to lose himself in his work. It couldn't help much, but at least it was a small distraction, a fraction of normalcy to keep him going. It was something that mattered more than him and his heartache.

Justice did not speak to him. All day long, as Anders tended to his patients, he kept waiting for the spirit's judgement, but Justice stayed silent. It would have almost been easier if he had said something, and maybe that was why he kept quiet.

Anders didn't deserve anything that would have made this pain ease so soon.

 _I love you_ , he'd said, as if those words were nothing, as if they wouldn't destroy the fragile balance he'd created with Fenris.

He should have known that his useless, blabbering tongue would ruin everything. Fenris had warned him about it what seemed like a long time ago, but he had not listened then, and now it was too late.

The first night alone was the worst.

Anders dreaded the moment he had to go to bed, where he would lie alone, only his own desperate thoughts to keep him company. He spent the evening cleaning his clinic, washing blankets and swiping the floor until his back hurt. He went through his manifesto, placing the pages on their proper order, and cleared his desk and arranged everything on it into neat lines.

Eventually, when he was shaky with exhaustion and his eyes stung, he had to admit he couldn't delay it any longer.

He crawled between the cold sheets. It was possible that he imagined it, but there seemed to be still a hint of Fenris's scent trapped there, like a ghost of a memory. Anders breathed it in, aware that it would only make the ache in his chest worse.

With shaky hands, he took the silk ribbon from under the pillow and let it tangle around his fingers. It was as smooth and soft as Fenris's skin, but not warm. It didn't carry Fenris's scent, and it didn't react to his touch.

He wondered if Fenris was hurting, even a little bit. Was he cold and uncomfortable in his bed when he couldn't wrap himself around Anders? _I sleep better with you_ , he'd admitted, more than once. It would be almost fair if his night was restless too. Anders imagined him alone in his bed, holding a pillow to his chest. It made his eyes sting.

With a heavy, tremulous sigh, Anders pushed the ribbon under the pillow and tried not to think of anything at all.

Morning was already approaching when he finally fell into fitful sleep.

The next night wasn't much better, and instead of lying in his bed staring at the darkened ceiling, he dropped to sit down at his desk and took out the neatly piled pages of his manifesto. He'd neglected his writing when he'd been with Fenris, and it was time to rectify that.

He had to read through the final paragraphs again to remind himself of the last thing he'd written, and when he reached the end, he realised he remembered nothing of what he'd read. He got a vague feeling of annoyance from Justice, but he ignored it; if the spirit wasn't talking to him, he could keep his useless feelings to himself as well.

Anders took a deep breath and read the page again, forcing himself to pay more attention this time.

There was a lot to say in addition to what he'd already written. He took his quill, dipped it into the ink bottle, brought it above his unfinished manuscript, and paused. The shoddy quill drippled ink onto the paper, one, two, three drops, a triangular pattern as Anders' hand shook.

All the words were jumbled in his head and refused to settle into coherent sentences. Whenever he got a few of them in order, the echo of Fenris's voice scattered them— _Do not_.

 _Do not say my name again. Do not look at me. Do not dare to love me_.

Anders almost took the ink bottle and threw it across his clinic in sheer frustration.

Instead, he forced himself to keep breathing steadily and lowered the quill until it touched the paper below the ink drops. Feeling almost outside of himself, he watched as his hand drew and idle line, curving over the empty white surface.

It seemed only natural to follow that line with another, curving to a different direction, and a few more, twirling, connecting, branching like something living. He was wasting good paper, and if Justice had been speaking to him, the spirit would have chided him for it, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He'd covered most of the paper when he finally paused and really looked at his handywork.

What he'd thought to be idle patterns were anything but.

He remembered, with shocking clarity, the way his fingers had followed the lines of lyrium on Fenris's back, how he'd thought he could replicate them in minute detail.

And there they were, black against the paleness of the cheap paper, exactly the way he remembered.

Anders dropped the quill to the desk and picked up the paper. For a while, he held it in an unsteady hand and looked at it. He could have written Fenris's name a thousand times and it would have seemed less obsessed.

Heart hammering in his chest, he crumbled the paper into a ball, smudging the still-fresh ink on it, threw it on the floor and set it on fire.

He could feel no satisfaction as he watched it burn to ashes.

The next several days were lost in a fog. Anders did his job and he ate when he remembered. He slept in his lonely bed, or at least lay there waiting for the morning. Sometimes he spoke to people, words he hardly remembered afterwards. He didn't dare to try writing anything new for his manifesto in fear that next time, instead of copies of lyrium lines, his hand would betray him by writing about Fenris—to Fenris, who would not want to read his words even if he could.

He didn't leave his clinic and tried to forget there was a world outside his front door.

His patients helped more than he would have ever thought to be possible. They were good people, kind people who'd been through a lot and who often struggled with their daily lives a lot more than Anders did himself. Many of them were nursing pains much more debilitating than a broken heart, and still they went on. He was lucky, Anders told himself. He'd lost something he'd never even truly had; the poor and unfortunate of Kirkwall went through life with losses far more severe, and did not crumble under them.

They cared for him too, he knew that. They could tell he wasn't quite himself, and when he'd healed them, many of their thanks came with a gentle touch on his arm or shoulder, or hands holding his a moment longer than he would have expected.

Their kindness didn't make him miss Fenris any less, but he was more thankful for it than he could ever express. It kept him in touch with reality and forced him to go on instead of doing something stupid, like running away to somewhere where he would never have to see Fenris again, or running _to_ Fenris to fall apart at the elf's feet.

Hiding in his clinic was stupid enough. It wasn't healthy. He was almost certain it wasn't normal either. Breakups always hurt, of course they did, but people got over them. They accepted the pain, let it fade and moved on.

It just didn't make sense; it had been too sudden. Things had been fine—things had been brilliant.

At the same time, it made perfect, horrible sense: Anders was not worth Fenris's love, it was that simple.

Fenris had once promised he wouldn't harm Anders' heart, but they both had thought of physical harm. Back then, Anders hadn't even realised he had to worry about any other kind of damage. Love had not been part of the equation then.

Sometimes, he almost hated Fenris for gaining such power over him.

He wasn't sure how long it took Justice to start talking to him again. He was leaving to do his shopping—his bread was dry and hard as stone, mould had overtaken his cheese, and he didn't want to think about what was going on with the meat—when he realised the spirit had said a few things to him during the day, and possibly on the previous day too. Anders hadn't been paying much attention.

Justice didn't volunteer any information of how he was feeling, but the glimpses Anders got from him were filled with bright anger towards Fenris—unfair, Anders thought—and deep confusion.

"Did you love him?" Anders asked out loud as he walked towards the door. "You weren't supposed to. You don't even have a heart to give him."

He didn't get an answer for that. He hadn't really been expecting one either.

Anders had gotten most of the items he needed when Justice felt the familiar presence of Fenris's lyrium, and Anders froze. The spirit's sudden resentment coursed through him with such force that he flinched. Slowly, he turned around, his shopping in his hands, and the elf was there, no more than fifteen yards away, walking down the street.

Fenris was all white hair and smooth skin dressed in metal and leather and anger, and he looked as cold and distant as a star. He seemed to be deep in thought and hadn't noticed Anders yet, and Anders wanted nothing more than to run to him and fall to his knees in front of him, right in the middle of the street, and to beg for mercy, for forgiveness, for his love.

He had the good sense not to. The best he could have hoped to achieve with that would have been another slap.

Quietly, he stepped into the shadows of the nearby alley before Fenris saw him and let the elf walk past. Justice didn't judge him for his choice, but he could feel the spirit's desire to give Fenris a piece of his mind. Anders told him no. Fenris had had the right to do what he had done.

He got a few glances from others nearby as he stayed there, waiting, but it didn't matter. Strangers could think whatever they wanted of his odd behaviour; in the end, a lone man hiding in an alley, clutching his shopping and no doubt looking pained, was far from the weirdest thing Kirkwall had to offer.

Only when he was sure Fenris was gone, Anders returned to the street. His feet felt heavy, but he finished his errands before he turned to walk back to his clinic.

Hawke was waiting at the door when Anders got back.

"There you are!" Hawke sounded cheerful, as if nothing could be wrong in the world. Anders almost hated him for it.

"Hello, Hawke," he managed.

It wasn't Hawke's fault Anders was miserable, so he attempted a friendly smile. It probably looked more like a grimace, because Hawke's cheerfulness vanished in an instant.

"You've been avoiding us."

Holding his shopping to his chest with one hand, Anders opened the door with the other and let Hawke in. "I've been busy." It was only half a lie. Anders was always busy with his patients.

Hawke gave him a suspicious look. "You're always busy," he said as if he'd read Anders' thoughts. "And somehow you still find the time to join us for a game of cards every now and then."

"It's not the end of the world if I miss a few nights," Anders said dismissively.

"A few nights?" Hawke repeated. He followed Anders across his empty clinic. "It's been eleven days since I last saw you."

Anders paused, and something clenched in his chest. That had been the day when Fenris had stayed recovering in his bed and things had been so very good.

He hadn't realised it had been that long. The days and nights had blurred together after the elf had left.

"Sorry," Anders said. He laid his shopping on his desk and tried to gather the energy to put everything to its proper place. "I … guess I've been a little distracted."

Hawke reached out to touch his shoulder. "What's _wrong_ , Anders?"

Anders tried to wave his concern away. "Nothing. Everything's fine."

"Liar," Hawke accused. "I know my favourite healer. You're not yourself. As if avoiding us wasn't bad enough, you look like you don't sleep, I swear you have lost weight, you, you—" he made a helpless gesture.

 _I told Fenris I love him, and he backhanded me across the cheek for it. It's killing me_ , Anders almost said. _I want to cry, and I want to scream, and I want to crawl to him and beg him to forgive me and take me back._

It would have been such a relief to tell all that to someone, to let all his grief fall into a sympathetic ear, but he held his tongue. Hawke didn't need to shoulder his stupid pain, and in truth, he didn't want to humiliate himself by admitting all that.

He had been through much worse and could handle his own worries. Once, he may have gone to lose them in Fenris's arms, but he'd been able to cope with a lot of things on his own before that. At least Fenris was still alive even though he wasn't with Anders anymore.

"I'm fine," he offered, aware of how empty it sounded.

Hawke looked as worried as he had been when Fenris had been sick, and Anders ached.

"We could talk. You know I would listen," Hawke said.

He met Hawke's eyes. "I know you would. But…" He shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm just fine, all right?"

Hawke regarded him for while with doubtful eyes, and without a word of warning, stepped close and pulled him into a hug. Anders sputtered, surprised, but leant into Hawke's chest and let himself be held. Hawke's embrace wasn't nearly as good as Fenris's had been, but he was warm and solid and he cared, and that made all the difference.

It was easier to accept the comfort of the arms holding him than to make himself speak of the things that were breaking his heart.

The hug lasted for a long time, but finally, reluctantly, Anders pulled back. Hawke said nothing, only patted him on the shoulder, and Anders managed a weak smile.

He didn't have Fenris, but at least he had friends. That had to be better than nothing.

"You shouldn't keep hiding here forever," Hawke said. "Promise me that whatever it is that's bothering you, you'll at least try to see the rest of us every now and then."

"I will," Anders said. "You have my word."

Hawke gave a firm squeeze to his arm. "Good. We've missed our healer. Consider joining us tonight?"

"I'll consider it," Anders promised.

Hawke looked at him for a moment and opened his mouth as if to say something. Anders had a feeling he didn't want to hear it.

Hawke sighed and closed his mouth. "I'll be seeing you soon," he said.

Relieved that the conversation was over, Anders nodded. Hawke gave him a gentle pat on the arm before leaving, and then Anders was alone again, with only his thoughts and his angry spirit for company.


	23. In Which Anders Tries to Go On With His Life, and Justice Voices Some Opinions

Hawke was right. Anders couldn't hide forever, and spending time with his friends would do him good. He'd made a mistake, but it didn't mean he had to isolate himself from everyone. He needed to continue living his life, and that meant more than locking himself inside his clinic and treating his patients until exhaustion took over. That meant card games, and that meant going to missions with Hawke, and if Fenris was there too, Anders had to learn to cope with that.

Yet as he stood in front of the door to Varric's suite, he found his hands shaking. He gritted his teeth and told himself to calm down.

Fenris could be as angry as he wanted, but Anders wasn't going to keep avoiding him forever. He'd had a life before Fenris, and it had been—he supposed it had been all right. It had felt all right then. He could have that life again, he was almost sure of that, and he wouldn't let the elf stop him.

He took a deep breath that was entirely unhelpful, forced his hand to stay steady, opened the door, and stepped in. At least he was almost certain his unease was not visible on his face—the last thing he needed was anyone paying any more attention to him than usual.

Hawke, Merrill and Varric sat around the table. Fenris wasn't there, and a sharp wave of relief washed over Anders. He could delay the moment when he had to be normal around the elf a little longer, and it was always possible that Fenris wouldn't come tonight at all.

Justice sounded bitter as he pointed out that the wait would only make the eventual encounter more difficult. Anders told him to shut up.

"Anders!" Hawke seemed delighted. "Good to see you showing your face here. Feeling better?"

So much for not getting unwanted attention. Anders was so glad Fenris couldn't hear that. "I'm fine," he said and attempted a smile. He got a feeling Hawke wasn't buying it.

Both Varric and Merrill gave him sympathetic looks.

"You seemed to be doing so well just a little while ago," Varric said. His tone was very careful, far more so than Anders was used to hearing from him.

Anders swallowed and took a calming breath. "I've been busy." He waved a hand to dismiss Varric's concerns as he took the empty seat next to him. "A healer's work is never done, not in Kirkwall."

"We know," Hawke said. He reached across the table to pat the back of Anders' hand. "That's why a night off can only do you good."

This time, Anders' smile was a little more certain. He truly did enjoy the company of his friends, and this chance to leave his sorrows behind for a while was more than welcome. It would be one step closer to normalcy, and thought here were many of them to take, every single one mattered.

"Of course it will. Deal me in, I've got some coin to lose."

They'd played two rounds that—surprising no one—had not been too favourable for Anders before the door opened again and Fenris walked in with Isabela at his side. Anders couldn't help but to look, the rest of the room fading away.

Fenris glanced at him and then immediately looked away, and Justice's anger flared. Anders pushed the spirit down and tried to ignore him.

Fenris was so beautiful still. Even standing next to someone as devastating as Isabela, he looked good, like he belonged beside her. What ever had made Anders think he could have that? A man like him had nothing to offer to someone like Fenris. The elf could have anyone he wanted; he had no use for one pitiful mage and his sad, worn heart.

He'd been such an idiot.

"Anders!" Isabela greeted him, delight clear in her voice. "Good of you to show your face here." She dropped to sit down beside him and gave him a gorgeous smile. "I was starting to think you were avoiding us."

 _Not you, just Fenris_ , Anders thought, but he was glad that she had forced his attention away from the elf. "I could never stay away from you long," he told her. "I would miss your pretty face too much."

"I know you would." She hesitated before leaning closer, lowering her voice so that no one else could hear. "If it has something to do with the … thing we spoke about—"

"No," Anders said quickly—too quickly.

"No?" Her eyes flitted towards the back of Anders' head. "You'd been wearing that green tie in your hair, and now you're not. I thought maybe it had been a favour from your—"

"Please don't," Anders said, his voice no more than a whisper. "Just … don't."

She reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry," she said.

So was Anders.

Fenris had taken an empty seat across the table, and unbidden, Anders' eyes were drawn to the elf's direction. Their gazes met.

For a fleeting moment, Anders thought he saw a trace of something like sadness and regret in the endless depths of those green eyes.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted Fenris to miss him even a little.

Justice agreed. Fenris had to realise walking out on Anders like that had not been right, it had not been just. He had thrown away a perfectly good relationship over a few stupid words he could have ignored. Perhaps Anders had been stupid not to watch his tongue, but it had been at least as stupid of Fenris to get angry and walk away. Being hit, abandoned without a word of explanation and treated like trash on the side of a street was a disproportionate punishment for daring to have feelings.

Fenris's gaze drifted away and his face smoothed into a mask of calm indifference. He sipped the wine he'd brought with him, accepted the cards Varric dealt him and seemed to forget Anders was there at all.

Anders must have imagined that sadness in his eyes too, reflected his own feelings on Fenris.

His spirit may have been right about what he'd said, but there was nothing Anders could do about it. Fenris did not want him anymore, and Anders and Justice both had to live with that. He'd been the only one who had been hurt, because he'd always been the only one who'd had something to lose. He'd been nothing more to Fenris than a warm body to have when the elf wanted it, and all that kindness Fenris had shown—it had meant nothing. It had only been Fenris's way of keeping him satisfied, a small price to pay for having someone willing under him in bed whenever he wanted.

Everything about Fenris suggested that he'd already forgotten what he'd had with Anders. Their breakup had not affected the elf, had not changed his life except that now he probably had someone else warming his bed.

Justice responded to that thought with such sudden flash of heated anger that Anders nearly flinched. He wished he could share that anger—it would have been better than the despondent sorrow that darkened his every thought.

His anger would have been justified, Justice insisted, and Anders told him to shut up again. The only justice they could hope would be time healing the worst of their pain, but with this new wound in his heart so fresh, it was difficult to believe it would ever happen.

Anders wanted to go back home. He didn't want to be here, watching Fenris go on with his life when everything inside Anders was still raw and aching.

 _Don't_ , he told himself. He was not going anywhere. He couldn't always run and hide. He would find a way get over Fenris and move on, one way or another, just to show the bloody elf that he _could_.

He picked up the cards Varric had dealt him and glanced at Isabela. She was beautiful, and she knew how to have fun. She would almost certainly give him a night or two, no strings attached. If he asked her to be his distraction from this heartache, she wouldn't mind and in the best case, he wouldn't even feel too guilty about it.

Justice's disapproval was a sharp prickle against the back of his mind, but it didn't matter anyway. Anders couldn't make himself want Isabela, though there had been time when he had, before Fenris.

Many things had been different before Fenris.

Anders suppressed a sigh and tried to pay attention to the game and the conversation going on around the table. Varric was telling a story of something he and Hawke had done, and Hawke kept throwing in comments and corrections. He had a feeling the story was highly embellished, but it was entertaining, and Anders wanted to let it keep him from thinking anything else.

Still, when no one was looking, his eyes drifted to Fenris's direction. The elf was usually in the process of drinking from his bottle and never even glanced at him, and Anders didn't expect him to.

He wasn't even worth being looked at anymore, let alone being touched without violence, and his presence seemed to be enough to make the elf want to get drunk as fast as possible.

 _Stop_ , he ordered himself. It would be best if he purged all thoughts of Fenris from his mind until the pain eased. If he kept doing that for long enough, the two of them could go back to the familiar, reliable rivalry that had worked so well for years.

And then, one day, Anders could love someone else again.

He couldn't make himself want that either. The only thing he wanted was the one he couldn't have, because Fenris was not coming back to him.

"Blondie, are you with us?"

Anders blinked and dragged himself away from his thoughts. Varric was watching him, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Anders realised he'd lost the track of the story Varric had been telling and their game both.

"Of course I am," he said quickly and attempted a smile.

Varric didn't seem as if he bought it, his mouth twitching into a frown for a moment, but he didn't pry. Anders didn't dare to look at Hawke, who no doubt was worrying over him again, or Fenris, who—well. Anders didn't know what the elf was feeling, but it had to be something he wouldn't have liked.

"In for the next round?" Varric asked. The undercurrent of sympathy in his voice made Anders feel like getting up and running away.

He did not want to play. "Sure," he said. "Deal me in."

They played for a few more rounds and Anders forced himself to pay attention to the game. He kept his eyes on his cards and on everyone else but Fenris.

To his relief, Merrill announced she was going to head home a bit after midnight. Anders took the opportunity to get up at the same time as she did, glad that he could finally get away from Fenris without it drawing too much attention to the fact that he was fleeing.

The near-worried look Hawke gave him may have meant he wasn't quite as subtle about it as he'd hoped. He offered a bright smile back and prayed Hawke would buy it. He didn't want to make anyone worry.

Fenris glanced at him when Anders bid his goodbyes to them, but this time, Anders was wise enough not to meet his eyes before he followed Merrill out of Varric's suite.

Moments later, he stepped out of the Hanged Man to the darkened streets and wished Merrill a polite though distant goodnight. As he watched her walk away, he thought of how he had waited for Fenris outside once, and how Fenris had stayed there and waited for him the night the elf had trapped him against the wall of an alley and had his wicked way with Anders.

That had been the night Fenris had told him he didn't like sleeping alone. It had felt like a step to the right direction, even before Anders had been aware of his own feelings.

He shook his head and told himself to drop the useless self-pity. He was supposed to move on, not dwell on what he could never get back.

The night air was cold around him as he turned to walk towards his clinic. After the warmth of the tavern, it made him shiver, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself to keep the chill away. With Fenris by his side, he'd always felt warmer.

Which was something he was not supposed to think about, he chided himself, and kept walking.

He hadn't gotten far before Justice realised that Fenris had come out after them. Anders stopped and turned around, and there the elf was, in the middle of the street, walking towards him.

"Anders," Fenris said. There was a slurred quality to the word—the wine he'd drank had had its intended effect, it seemed.

Anders didn't have the chance to respond before Justice took over with such force that it felt like a punch to the stomach. Through the blue haze Justice created between him and the world, he could see how Fenris took a step back, eyes wide with shock as he was suddenly face-to-face with the spirit.

" _Do not come back to hurt him again._ " Justice's voice was much colder than the night around them. " _Do not hurt **us**_."

Fenris raised a hand towards him and opened his mouth as if to say something, but Justice didn't let him.

" _You were cruel, and I shall not tolerate your cruelty any further. You have played your game with him, used him, and now thrown him away when he has become an inconvenience. We are done with you._ "

Fenris's hand fell. He kept staring at Anders, and the look on his face made Anders want to reach out for him. There was fear and confusion there, and pain, and _he deserved it_ , Justice said.

" _'Do not', you told him_ ," Justice went on. " _Do not, I tell you. You could have turned him down gently, but you chose to hit him and walk out without a word of apology. You are not worth his love. Begone, or I shall be forced to pay you back for your actions in kind_."

Anders wrenched the control of his own body back from Justice before the spirit actually did something they would both regret. The street around him seemed to tilt, and it took him a moment to be able to focus again.

"Anders," Fenris said. He sounded helpless, and the fear reflecting in his eyes was there in his voice too.

"Just go away, Fenris," Anders said when the world cleared. "Please."

He didn't stop to wait for Fenris's answer before he turned on his heels and began to walk away.

Fenris did not follow him, and he wasn't sure why he was so disappointed. He had known the elf would not do that—had made it clear he wanted Fenris gone.

Justice was still seething, but Anders ignored him. He had no energy for that anymore. All he wanted was to go home, to sleep, and to forget.

His walk to his clinic was interrupted again not long after the presence of Fenris's lyrium had faded, this time by Hawke.

"Don't," Anders said before Hawke had a chance to open his mouth. "I'm fine."

Hawke let out a heavy sigh, and Anders realised he'd said those words too often. If Hawke had been inclined to believe such a claim at some point, he did not anymore.

"You're lying to me, Anders," Hawke said. "You're not fine, and I'm not the only one who thinks so."

Anders gave him a suspicious look. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Well, Isabela and Varric, mostly. They both have been worried."

Anders muttered a curse under his breath. Isabela knew too much and no doubt suspected more. He hoped she hadn't said anything to Hawke. And Varric… He didn't know what Varric knew or thought, but he didn't need anyone else finding out and getting involved, or worse, mentioning it to Fenris. Things were bad enough as they were.

"Tell them not to stick their noses into other people's business," he said. His voice was sharper than he'd intended, and he cringed.

Hawke gave him a long look. "They only want to help."

Anders sighed. "I know. But right now, the best they—and you—can do is to drop it."

Hawke said nothing. They walked in silence for a while, the streets quiet and dark around them. Anders knew Hawke wasn't done yet.

Unfortunately, he was right.

"Has Fenris…?" Hawke started. "He's not … done anything? You two have a difficult relationship."

Something in Anders' chest gave a sickening twist. _Difficult_ was putting it mildly.

"He's been his usual charming self, nothing more. I'd love to sic you on him, don't get me wrong, but this has nothing to do with him," Anders said.

Hawke gave him a doubtful look, but eventually, he seemed to accept Anders' claim. It must have helped that Anders had declined the opportunity to get the elf in trouble.

"Someone else then?" Hawke asked. "You've been avoiding _someone_ , Anders."

"I've been avoiding no one."

Hawke didn't let up. He could be very stubborn when he wanted to, and it was obvious that he did want now. "Is it a … _romantic_ sort of thing?"

Anders almost tripped over his own feet. He was not going to be happy with Isabela if she'd said something to give Hawke that idea.

" _No_ ," he said as firmly as he could. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone. Maker, he wished he wasn't such a terrible liar.

Hawke didn't say anything for a while. "I, of all people," he started, "won't judge you for having any sort of … liaison … with anyone of our companions, but—"

"Hawke," Anders interrupted. "Please stop right now. I cannot imagine many things more awkward than talking with you about my sex life."

"Er," said Hawke.

"I'm tired and overworked. All right? If, for whatever reason, I'm indeed not fine right now, I _will be_."

Hawke let out a heavy sigh. "All right." He gave Anders a squeeze on the arm. "But take care of yourself. What use do I have for a healer who exhausts himself, doesn't eat, and avoids others, right? I need you in good shape, Anders."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Trying to guilt trip me a bit there, are you?"

Hawke shrugged. He didn't have the good sense to look guilty. "Tends to work with you. You think of others more than you think of yourself."

Anders couldn't help a faint smile. "That's surprisingly manipulative of you."

There was a short silence. Hawke gave Anders a serious look. "I want what's best for you."

Anders felt unexpected tightness in his throat. He had to clear it a couple of times before he could speak.

"Thank you. I'll—I'll try."

The smile Hawke gave him was wide and relieved. "We would all appreciate that. Even Fenris, no doubt."

The mention of the elf didn't help, but Anders didn't say anything about that.

As he walked the remaining short distance to his clinic, he admitted that Hawke was right again; he needed to take care of himself if he wanted to be of any use for anyone. He may have not been fine, but he had to play the part, and eventually, he truly would be.

He would do his work and focus his efforts on finding justice for mages, and that would be all that mattered.

For a short while, Fenris had been his beautiful little dream; now, it was time to wake up.


	24. In Which Fenris Comes Back

Days went by and slowly, slowly, the ache began to ease a little.

Anders struggled with his sorrow and with occasional flashes of bitterness and resentment he knew would destroy him if he let them take over. He fought them, and there were times when he won. All thoughts of Fenris came with the raw pain of loss, but he could go on, he could function.

He worked and he dared to try writing his manifesto and he met his friends. When Hawke asked, Anders went with him and Isabela and Aveline to a mission, and every moment of normalcy made him a little surer that one day, he could face Fenris and feel nothing more than the familiar, safe distaste he'd held towards the elf for years.

Whenever he had to be in the same place as Fenris, he kept his distance and ignored the elf the best he could, and Fenris seemed determined to do the same.

Justice didn't demand to speak to Fenris again, but he was still almost constantly angry. Usually with Fenris, but sometimes with Anders, and sometimes with the rest of the world around him.

When he was angry with the world, Anders dreamt of all-consuming fire.

He fought Justice's anger too, and like with the negative emotions, sometimes he won.

Despite his efforts to put on a brave face, he kept getting worried looks from most of his friends. He tried to ignore them and act normal. Sometimes, when he was alone with Hawke, he got a comforting squeeze on the arm or a pat on his shoulder, and a few times, a bone-crushing hug, and though every touch was a reminder of the touches he couldn't have anymore, he appreciated them all. Hawke cared, and it meant a lot.

Isabela did her best to cheer him up on her own way whenever they met. At times, that involved playful flirting Anders knew he wasn't meant to take seriously, and other times it was her buying him a drink—only ever one, though, and Anders was thankful for that. Both he and Justice agreed that drowning his sorrows in ale was a bad idea.

Varric watched him. At least twice, Anders was certain he would say something, ask some question Anders didn't want to answer, but he never did. Like Isabela, he must have noticed the green hair tie was gone, but Anders couldn't tell if he had made the connection between that and Anders' mood. It wasn't like Anders could ask him.

He did have days when he was fine, and he lived for those days. The deeper he buried his feelings for Fenris, the more of those days there were. Justice was better on those days too, less angry, less frustrated, less demanding.

It was not what Anders had wanted from life after he'd had that small taste of happiness with Fenris, but it would have to be enough. He knew he could do this. He could go on, and he could heal. There would always be a scar left in his heart, but the open wound would close in time.

And then Fenris came back.

Anders had not expected him to do that after Justice's little speech.

It was late, the last of Anders' patients gone, his lantern out for the night, but he was still cleaning up and had not yet locked the door when, without a warning, Fenris walked in. The elf looked as he always did, cold, untouchable, and as viciously beautiful as heartbreak.

Anders could only stare at him. All the pain and longing and misery he had tried to keep hidden so deep they could never surface again crashed over him as if they had not been gone at all. He'd almost gotten used to seeing Fenris elsewhere, with others around them, but here, where they'd shared a bed and where Fenris had left him when he'd spoken out of turn, it made him want to scream.

The day had been one of the better ones. Fenris had no right to come to him and drag out all the hurt and the useless love now. He was not allowed to force Anders to fall apart again. It was cruel to ruin all the progress Anders had made now that he'd been getting himself back on his feet.

"Why are you here?" he asked and wished he could infuse his voice with anger to mask the hurt that was so clear in it now.

Justice was shifting inside him, and the echoes of the spirit's pain burned like fire, even brighter than the anger Anders had always been unable to share. Anders had to force him to stay down. Threatening the elf again could have led to something uglier than Anders was prepared to deal with.

"Well?" he prompted when Fenris said nothing. "What do you want?"

"It's the lyrium," Fenris said. He was looking somewhere over Anders' left shoulder. "It was all because of the lyrium, wasn't it? That was what mattered to you—and to _him_."

"What?" Anders couldn't believe his ears "That's what you come to say to me? What does it matter if it was the blighted lyrium?" He took an unsteady breath and gritted his teeth. "You walked out on me. It's been weeks since you've even spoken to me! Now it's too damn late to talk about the lyrium, because you left and only gave me a slap as a parting gift!"

Fenris was quiet for a while, and then he made a strange noise, choked-off and pained. He was staring at Anders, eyes wide and full of some emotion Anders couldn't decipher. Anders stared back, and Fenris's face twisted and he covered his eyes with a hand. His shoulders shook and he let out that same strangled noise again, and it took Anders a long moment to realise the elf was crying.

Fenris, strong, steely Fenris, was standing in the middle of his clinic, _crying_ , and Anders' beat-up heart broke all over again.

"Hey, no, don't do that." He made no conscious decision to move before he was across the floor and found himself gathering Fenris in his arms. The elf didn't resist, though he didn't lean into Anders' hold either. "Shh, shh, it's all right, don't cry now."

Fenris was trembling, face still hidden behind his hand. His sobs were almost silent, but Anders could feel them, raking through his own body and dislodging something painful and sharp inside him. There was a lump in his throat, and he swallowed and held Fenris tighter as he waited for the crying to ease. The hard, pointy parts of Fenris's armour were digging into his skin through his clothing, but after the pain of the previous weeks, the discomfort hardly registered.

On some distant level, Anders was aware he should have not done this. Fenris had hurt him, and it was not his place to comfort the elf now. He should have told Fenris to take his pathetic tears and go away.

He didn't even know why Fenris was crying, but he was a healer, and he had hard time not reacting to someone else's pain. Yes, Fenris had been cruel, but Anders himself wasn't blameless. If he had never said those words, none of the awful things between them would have happened. What Fenris had done had been worse, but Anders had caused it himself.

Justice told him he was a fool, but he didn't care. He rested his cheek against the side of Fenris's head, the soft hair brushing his skin so familiar, the scent of it like home, and stroked his back and held him close, waiting.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but finally, Fenris's sobbing eased and he pulled away from Anders' hold. His breaths were still shaky as he lowered his hand and glanced at Anders. He wasn't a pretty crier, his eyes reddened and swollen, tear-tracks marring his blotchy cheeks, and somehow that, more than anything else, made Anders want to take all his pain away.

"I … I am sorry." Fenris's voice was tremulous and thick from crying, and he sniffled. "For … that. And for—for everything else."

"It's all right," Anders said, because he didn't know what else to say.

Fenris shook his head and half turned away from Anders. He raised a hand as if to wipe his face before he seemed to realise the gauntlets made it rather difficult.

Without thinking, Anders reached out and brushed the tears from Fenris's cheeks, and the elf made a broken little noise and closed his eyes. He looked ready to fall apart again, but he didn't push Anders' hand away.

"I should have not hit you," Fenris said. He didn't open his eyes, and his voice trembled still. "It was—it was not right. I could have a thousand excuses, but none of them would _make_ it right, and I am—I am sorry, as inadequate as that is."

Anders swallowed. His throat felt too tight. "Well, I did say some pretty shocking things. It was kind of my fault, anyway."

Fenris's eyes flew open, wide and alarmed.

"No, that's not— _no_." He shook his head. "Do not _dare_ to make excuses for me. It was not what you said, it was—but no. No excuses." He took a deep breath. It shuddered enough that Anders wondered if he would start crying again. "Nothing—nothing justifies what I did."

Justice agreed with that. Anders told him to shut up again. He was getting a feeling they could fix this, could mend at least some of the things that they had broken that morning if they did what they should have done ages ago and _talked_ , and Anders was not going to let that chance slip through his fingers. If they couldn't get back what they'd had, maybe they could be friends, at least. It wouldn't be perfect, not anywhere what Anders wanted, needed, but it would be better than being apart.

Was he really going to let a few tears and an awkward apology persuade him into forgiving, Justice asked, but the answer was such a resounding yes that it silenced the spirit immediately. Despite his best efforts, Anders had never stopped loving Fenris and would forgive given half a reason. He'd yearned for forgiveness for so long that being the one forgiving felt almost unnatural, but if that would set things right, he was happy to do it.

In the end, Justice wanted the same. Bitter as he was after the way Fenris had treated Anders, the elf's obvious pain had made some of his anger ease. They'd been wronged, there was no denying that, but once, Fenris had been more precious to Justice than anything else living, and he wanted the elf back as much as Anders did.

"Let's have a proper talk," Anders said. "All right?"

Fenris shook his head. "No. I should—I should go. I only came here to apologise, and it—it all came out wrong anyway." He looked Anders in the eye, and the pain on his face was so clear Anders almost burst into tears himself. "I _am_ sorry, for what it is worth. For hitting you, for abandoning you and for taking this long to come to apologise. I meant to, earlier, but—but I was drunk anyway, and your … spirit…" his voice trailed off.

Justice realised what he meant before Anders did, and the spirit's sudden regret made Anders twitch.

That was why Fenris had followed him out of the Hanged Man the night Justice had spoken to the elf. Fenris had come to apologise, and Justice had interrupted him.

They could have mended things then, Justice whispered. The spirit's guilt filled Anders' veins like ice. They could have talked, and the pain would have at least lessened, if Justice had not chosen to take his anger out on Fenris, or if they'd given the elf a chance to talk after reprimanding him.

Too late to cry over the spilt potion, Anders told the spirit. If they could fix things, they would do it now.

"I am sorry," Fenris said again, unaware of the conversation going on in Anders' head. "I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I—I think you should know how sorry I am. You should know that I was the one in the wrong, and the only mistake you ever made was choosing someone like me."

He turned to leave, and without thinking, Anders caught his wrist.

They both froze. Justice was so close to surface Anders could feel the spirit's power seeping through his skin in places.

That didn't matter, because Anders had just understood something.

"That's why you slapped me," he said slowly. "Not because of what I said, but because I touched you when you were already shocked, and it startled you."

Fenris turned back. He didn't pull his arm from Anders' grip, but he was tense. "No excuses," he repeated. "The night before, I promised I would never do that, yet—"

"It's not an excuse, it's an explanation," Anders interrupted. He looked Fenris in the eye. "You weren't angry with me at all. Oh, Maker, you weren't angry." The knowledge of that left him almost giddy. "You got scared by what I said, and then—"

"—and then I _hit_ you and I—" Fenris's voice broke. "The way you _looked_ at me—you were so hurt. I did that to you. I hurt you. What kind of a monster hurts someone for saying that?" There were tears in his eyes again as he shook his head. "There is no fixing what I did."

Anders disagreed. Fenris had not left in anger; he had not been horrified because of what Anders had said, but because he had slapped Anders. The elf had not been avoiding him out of hatred, but out of fear and shame, and Justice, well as he'd meant, had inadvertently made things worse.

They had wounded each other, but now that they were here, able to talk again, Anders could heal those wounds, and it wouldn't take magic.

"You're speaking to a healer," he said gently. "When you were sick, I told Hawke I can fix almost anything, and I wasn't lying." He gave Fenris's wrist a little tug, persuasive rather than forceful or demanding. "Come on. Let's have a proper talk."


	25. In Which Healing Begins to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter comes with [lovely art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22996135) by [DragonDracarys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDracarys/pseuds/DragonDracarys) again.

They ended up sitting on the edge of one of the cots, side by side. It was still obvious on Fenris's face that he had been crying, but he didn't look ready to burst into tears at any moment anymore.

Anders had shifted his grip from Fenris's wrist to his hand, the warm skin and the cold metal of his gauntlet both familiar under his touch, and Fenris allowed it, held his hand back, which was a good start, Anders felt. The brush of the elf's lyrium against his skin had brought some calm to Justice too.

"All right," he said. "Let's start from the top: you're forgiven for the slap. It's not something I should have to forgive twice, but I get why it happened. I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

Fenris hung his head. "I _am_ sorry. You are too good for me." His face twisted and he covered his eyes with his free hand again. "I will have to make amends for that for the rest of my life, no matter what else happens between us, and it will never—"

"Shut your mouth," Anders interrupted. "You're forgiven, and I won't have you arguing with me on that."

Fenris made a sound that could have been a laugh, or a sob, and lowered his hand. "Too good for me," he repeated. "Too forgiving, you are."

"Shut up," Anders said. "I'm so done with your grovelling."

Fenris didn't seem to know what to make of that, and Anders knew this wasn't going to be the last time they would have this conversation, but he felt they could move to other topics. He had his own and Justice's apologies to make, and then there was the lyrium Fenris had brought up—

"You shouldn't be the one doing this," Fenris said before Anders could figure out how to continue. "You're trying to make things right after _I_ ruined everything."

"Hey," Anders said. "I _am_ the healer here, remember?"

"Yes," Fenris agreed. "And I am the one who can only break and destroy things." He shook his head. He seemed so tired, his usually bright eyes dull, dark shadows under them. "You were right about that."

"I wasn't. I didn't mean it even then."

"Maybe you should have." Fenris pulled his hand from Anders' grip, and Anders wanted it back so much it hurt. "I should have cherished what you said, and instead, I rejected you in the cruellest way possible."

"You were scared."

"Yes," Fenris said. He wasn't looking at Anders anymore, and his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. "But I should have not taken it out on you. You should be angry."

"I tried to," Anders told him. "I really did. I just…" he didn't know to finish. "Can I have your hand back?" he asked instead.

"Oh," Fenris said. "I am sorry." He took hold of Anders's hand and gave it a little squeeze.

"Thanks. So, since I'm not angry and you have apologised more than enough, can you please stop being difficult and let me—us, can you let _us_ fix this? We can. I swear, we can."

"Even a healer can't undo what happened."

Anders looked at him. There was so much pain in the elf's eyes, pain that he recognised, pain that he'd bee through. He had forgiven Fenris, but it would take Fenris a long while to forgive himself. Anders couldn't make that happen, but it was possible he could speed up the process if they were together again.

"We're not here to undo things," Anders explained. "We'll heal the damage, and maybe, _maybe_ , this thing we had, it'll be stronger, better, after. Yes?"

Fenris swallowed. His gaze drifted and the fingers wrapped around Anders' tightened before relaxing again. "Yes," he said. He sounded hesitant, but that was to be expected.

"So. The lyrium."

Fenris shifted and returned is eyes to Anders. "I did not come to talk about the lyrium. I don't know why I brought it up at all. I needed to say something before your—your spirit made me lose courage again. It doesn't matter; I came to apologise and should have not started with that."

"I think it does matter," Anders insisted. "I know what I said, about being mage and being drawn to it, and I do adore it, but it's—well. Without it, I would have had to find another excuse to kiss you, but that's all. It's you I want."

"Still?" Fenris asked. "You still want me, after … all that?"

"Yes," Anders said simply. "Do you not want me?" His voice was steady, but inside him, the fear of rejection wrapped cold fingers around his heart.

Fenris swallowed. "Too much. All the time. You are so…" He trailed off, and his hand rose to brush a strand of hair from Anders' eyes, the touch of the metal cold but as gentle as it had always been. "Hating you was so much less complicated. I don't know what happened to that."

Anders found himself smiling at that. "I charmed you with my good looks and winning personality."

The corner of Fenris's mouth twitched upwards. Anders raised his other hand so he could hold Fenris's between his own, and Fenris's fingers tightened around his, the sharp edges of the gauntlet pressing into the skin of Anders' palm. It was painful, but he wouldn't have given it up for anything. He loved these hands, even when they were covered in metal.

Carefully, Anders shifted a little closer to Fenris and leant into the elf's shoulder. Fenris didn't pull away but leant back into him, and Anders let out a relieved breath. He'd missed the elf's warmth.

"When it comes to what I said, I'm sorry." This close, he could feel the scent of Fenris's skin, familiar and comforting. He had missed that too. "I should have not thrown it on you like that."

Fenris twitched and turned to meet his eyes, face serious. "Anders, no. You did nothing wrong. Please do not apologise."

"I did scare you."

"You're not responsible of my reaction," Fenris insisted. "It still frightens me, but fear is never a justification to hurt someone."

"It was out of line." Anders closed his eyes and held Fenris's hand tighter. "It was stupid of me."

"No." Fenris's voice was very firm. "Not stupid. Not wrong. It was a gift, and being too afraid to accept it is my problem, not yours. I—I am sure I have killed those feelings with my actions, but…"

_Is_ his problem, Fenris had said, not _was_ , Anders couldn't help but to note. He tried not to let that discourage him too much.

"I doubt there's killing them," he said. "I tried not to feel that way, you don't know how much I tried, but every time I see you… I think it's incurable. You're—it's just… It was so good with you." He opened his eyes and looked at Fenris, shrugging helplessly. "I never asked to feel these things, but here I am. Yet another victim of a pair of pretty eyes."

Fenris huffed, almost amused.

"I wanted it to be easy," he said quietly before glancing at Anders. "I wanted to have you and not _think_ about it. I was certain—I was so certain I could separate what we had here"—he gestured towards Anders' bed—"from what we had _there_." Another gesture, this time indicating the door and the world outside it. "What you said made me realise I couldn't. We were both already in too deep."

"I wanted it to be easy too", Anders said. "But things just can't be that simple, can they? And…" he paused for a moment. "You know that they weren't like that anyway. Not towards the end. The border between here and there, it had gotten blurred long time before … well. You kept staying longer, touching me out there." _When I was miserable, you held me in your arms and asked for nothing in return_ , he didn't say. _You tied my hair with a silk ribbon almost exactly the colour of my coat._

Fenris was quiet after that, but he was still leaning to Anders' side, and the hand in Anders' held tight.

"I don't expect anything from you," Anders said. "But it seems to me you feel something towards me, yes? Something good. Despite being scared. You were … very kind to me, kinder than most others have ever been. Gentle with me. You came back." He tried to keep his breathing steady and prayed he wouldn't be turned down again now, not even gently. "It made me think that maybe you'd gotten pretty fond of me."

"I…" Fenris shifted a little but didn't pull away from Anders. "Yes. That's—yes. Of course, yes."

"So, do you think we could give this thing between us another chance now? From the beginning? Do things right this time? I really want that."

Fenris bit his lower lip. He looked as if he wanted to say yes, but was holding himself back. "But why would you—? I do not understand you. Why _me_?"

"I don't know. Bad taste?" Anders offered. "I'm an idiot, remember."

Fenris let out a helpless little laugh that Anders could feel in his own chest. "You must be if you're willing to take me back."

Anders gave him a little nudge on the side. "Shut up. Yes or no?"

"Am I supposed to shut up, or am I supposed to answer?" Fenris asked.

Anders nudged him again. The elf was stalling, but Anders could forgive that if his answer was right. "Well there's your sense of humour. You're allowed to answer."

Fenris took a deep breath, and pressed together as they were, Anders could feel how it shuddered.

He waited for Fenris's response, but Fenris stayed quiet for so long that cold began to creep into Anders' bones. He'd thought the stalling had been because of fear, but perhaps he had been wrong; it was possible Fenris was planning to say no and was hesitant because he didn't want to hurt Anders. His hold of the elf's hand loosened.

Fenris's fingers twitched and clung to Anders' harder as if he was afraid Anders would let go. "Yes," he said.

Anders' heart felt ready to burst. "Thank you," he whispered. He wanted to say something about love, but he didn't dare quite yet. Fenris was still scared and needed time.

"Don't thank me. We could have talked this all out then and there if I had not hurt you," Fenris said quietly. "I could have spared us both weeks of pain."

That was true. "I know," Anders said. "But it happened." He smiled a little. "It's done, it's over, it's in the past. Let it go. You're not the only one to blame. Justice didn't make things easier, exactly." The spirit's regret flared, and Anders held on to Fenris's hand a little tighter. "He's sorry for what he said. For interrupting you."

"He—he was right. And I'd had rather a lot to drink. I don't think that conversation would have gone well then." He offered Anders a sad smile. "I did not manage it very well even sober."

He may have had a point, but Justice wasn't much comforted by that. "He accused you of cruelty but was cruel himself. Maybe you did deserve to be told off, but we should have let you speak too. You don't know how guilty he feels."

"He shouldn't," Fenris said, voice gentle. "He did what was right."

"He—" Anders paused, unsure of if he should have said this, but Fenris had to find out, eventually, and doing it now could spare them all another shock. "He's gotten rather fond of you, you know."

Fenris nodded. "I assumed something like that. He never seemed to object my presence in your life, and he's been there, a few times, when we—" he made a vague gesture with his free hand, the kind he'd made before when he'd been talking about sex.

"Yes." Anders thought of that for a moment. "You never seemed bothered."

"I am sure I should have been," Fenris said softly. "He does—he does frighten me, but it was your choice to be his host, and as foolish as that may have been, I understand now that you would have not joined with a demon. He is on your side. He protects you. I cannot help but to respect him for that."

Justice preened a little, and Anders smiled to himself. "He appreciates you saying that. Is he forgiven?" The spirit would have liked to ask that himself, but they both knew it was better not to make Fenris deal with talking to him quite yet.

The corner of Fenris's mouth quirked up, and he gave Anders—or possibly Justice—a gentle nudge with his shoulder. "He is forgiven."

Justice's relief was all warmth spreading through Anders.

They sat in silence for a while, leaning into each other, close but not close enough, Fenris's hand still clasped in both of Anders, until Fenris shifted. "What are we going to do now?" he asked.

"I don't know," Anders admitted. "But you're not going anywhere." He hesitated. "Right?"

Fenris didn't answer immediately, only stared at their joined hands. "I don't want to go anywhere," he said after a moment, "but I fear to stay here. I look at you and all I can think of is how you felt under me, how you looked at me when I was inside you. I want you so, but I do not deserve you."

"Maker." Anders swallowed. After days and days without Fenris, his entire body was screaming after the elf, as desperate for his touch as Fenris seemed to be for his. "You could have me right here and I wouldn't mind at all."

Fenris let out a pained little noise and his hand clenched around Anders'. "Do not. Do not say things like that. I have not earned that yet."

Anders didn't share that opinion, but he knew better than to push Fenris. They needed to do everything right this time.

"You can still stay. I don't want you to be anywhere else but right next to me where you belong."

"Anders…"

"Stay the night." _Stay forever_. "Please. Stay here, stay in my bed with me."

_Talk to me, say that you love me and mean it_ , he wanted to demand, but he knew he had to wait. They were both reeling from the words they'd said and the words they were holding back, and they needed time to calm down. The elf was far more shaken by their talk than Anders was, and if he did love Anders, he was not ready to admit it yet. It had taken Anders days to come to terms with his own feelings; he had to be patient with Fenris.

The elf gave him a worried look. "I don't think that is wise now."

Anders felt sudden cold creeping into his bones. This wasn't Fenris rejecting him again, but it was too close, and he gripped Fenris's hand tighter.

"It is," he insisted. "Because if you go home, you _will_ convince yourself that leaving me is the best option. If I give you distance now, you'll fill it with all the reasons for why this won't work between us, why you have to _protect me_ by staying away from me. If I don't keep you at arm's reach now, you'll be _gone_ , and I refuse to lose you again."

Lips parted, Fenris blinked at him.

"Stay," Anders begged. "Please, stay."

"I cannot just…" Fenris shifted. "I do not want to hurt you again, but we cannot sleep together now."

"I won't do anything," Anders promised quickly.

As much as they wanted each other, he understood they needed to take their time. There was a high chance that if they had sex now, they would both end up pretending it was enough and they didn't need to talk about their feelings anymore, and in the end, that would only lead to pain. As much as it hurt not to have Fenris's hands on his skin, mouth on his, the aftermath of sleeping together now would be far more painful.

"I won't touch you, I won't push," Anders continued. "If you come to my bed, I'll be a perfect bloody gentleman, I swear. I don't have a sword to put between us, but I'll use my staff if you want. I'd say we could use _your_ sword, but the blighted thing is too big, and we'd probably—"

He was silenced by a finger covered in cold metal on his lips. "You are babbling, mage."

"Sometimes I do that when I'm nervous," Anders blurted.

"I know." Fenris paused and regarded Anders for a moment from the corner of his eye. "I miss your touch so much, and I fear my self-control cannot handle this."

"I know," Anders said. "I miss yours too, but that's why I can't bear the thought of you not sleeping next to me anymore. Haven't we been apart long enough?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Fenris nodded. "You can be very persuasive," he said, and his mouth curved into a lovely faint smile.

Anders had to struggle not to yank him into an embrace. Instead, he got up, tugged Fenris to his feet after him, and pulled the elf towards his bed.

Seeing Fenris undress and knowing he shouldn't touch was torture, and the glances Fenris threw in his direction suggested the elf was feeling the same way about Anders. Before his disastrous confession, Anders hadn't realised how desperate they were for each other. He'd been aware of their shared desire, but when they'd been able to satisfy it so often, it had never evolved into this burning hunger that made them both weak.

It should have been terrifying to want someone that much, but Anders's only fear was losing Fenris again.

He watched as Fenris crawled into the bed and curled on his side on the far edge. He looked as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible under the covers, and Anders' heart ached.

Fenris glanced up at him and gave him a tiny, hopeful smile before pushing the pillow to Anders' side of the bed, revealing the green silk ribbon Anders had stashed under it.

"Oh," Fenris said, lifting his head and reaching out to touch it.

Anders picked up the ribbon as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You gave it to me. I couldn't make myself to wear it with you. You know. Gone."

Fenris nodded.

"I wanted it close, though."

Another nod. "I missed you too," Fenris said, very softly. "I'm sorry."

Anders smiled, though it didn't feel completely steady. "Stop saying that already, idiot."

He curled on his side under the covers, facing Fenris. The bed was so narrow that there were only a few inches between them, but they felt like miles.

Then Fenris's hand reached for his, and Anders let out a relieved breath. He laced their fingers together, the silk tie still tangled there now trapped between their hands, and wondered how he and Justice had survived these long days without Fenris. His need for the elf was almost unbearable. He wanted back what they'd had before.

And he would have it, he promised himself.

"Give me your word you'll be here beside me tomorrow morning," he said. "No matter what happens in that pretty little head of yours, you will not sneak out during the night. Even if you come up with a thousand valid reasons to walk out of my life and never see me again, even if you think you're doing it for my sake, don't leave. I need to be sure you will be here when I wake up. At least give me a chance to still have you."

Fenris squeezed Anders fingers and shifted a little closer. "I will be here, I promise."

Relieved, Anders smiled. Lying here next to Fenris, he was finally beginning to feel warm. "Thank you."


	26. In Which Anders and Fenris Have Their Happy Ending

Anders woke up to find Fenris sitting beside him with his knees pulled to his chest. It didn't seem as if he'd slept much. In his hand, he was holding Anders' silk ribbon.

"Fenris?"

Fenris glanced at him. Anders did not like the look on his face. _A thousand valid reasons_ , he thought, but at least the elf had kept his word and had not left.

"If you've changed your mind and walk away now, I'm going to set you on fire," Anders said before he could think better of it.

Fenris huffed a laugh, then looked surprised by his own reaction.

"I am not…" He turned to face Anders so that he was half-kneeling, half-sitting, leaning on one hand, the covers pooling around his waist. The momentary mirth was gone. "There will be bad days, do you understand?" he asked. "I will hurt you again. Not hit you, never that, never again, but otherwise. And you will hurt me."

"I know," Anders said. He wasn't sure where Fenris was going with this, but as long as the elf was there, they had the chance to be happy.

"There will be days when I yell at you and insult you," Fenris continued. "Days when I cannot listen to your blabbering for a moment longer, days when I will not be able to tolerate your touch." He took a deep breath. "There will be days when you wish me gone, days when I refuse to speak to you, and you will _hate_ me for it. There will be so many days when I will not understand you and you will need something I won't be able to give you. We are capable of causing each other so much pain, do you realise that? That … it…" He shook his head as his voice trailed off.

"I know," Anders said again. "Fenris, I know. There will always be bad days, but that's okay, that's normal. There will be far more good days, and those will make the bad ones worth it."

"Is that truly what you believe? After what I did?"

Anders nodded. "It is. I want the good days. Void have me, I want the bad days too." He swallowed. "I love you. I can't help it, and I don't _want_ to help it. I'm so gone on you that if you walked out now and never even looked at me again, I'd still—I'd still…" He gestured helplessly. "There's no one else for me, Fenris. Not anymore."

He wasn't sure, but it seemed that Fenris's lower lip wobbled, just a little.

"You frighten me," Fenris whispered. "You are feeling so very … _much_."

Anders hesitated, disheartened. "So … you don't? Feel like that? Because last night, it seemed to me that you could be in"—he swallowed, unsure of why he couldn't say the word now when he'd said it a moment ago—"you know. With me."

"I…"

"I don't blame you," Anders rushed to assure Fenris before he scared the elf away again. "It's fine. It's all right. You don't have to. I know I'm not much of a prize"—Fenris made a sharp, disapproving noise at that—"and then there's _Justice_. He likes you and of course that doesn't make it any easier for you to like him, but he is going to be a part of the deal." He paused, but Fenris said nothing, so he had to continue. "Just let me—let me love you. Say that you'll let me, that you'll let _us_ , that you won't run away if tell you I love you again." He met Fenris's eyes, hoping he didn't look as if he was about to burst into tears. "Say yes to me one more time. Please."

Slowly, Fenris reached out and took Anders' hand in his own and laced their fingers together. The green ribbon got caught between their fingers, and Anders barely dared to breathe as he waited for the elf's answer. Even Justice was quiet.

"Yes." Fenris's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Anders let out a shaky breath and squeezed Fenris's hand. Relief warred with disappointment inside him, and his eyes burned with tears that were threatening to make an unwanted appearance.

Maker, how he wanted Fenris's love.

Greedy. He'd already gotten more than he hoped for, and no matter what Justice thought about it, Fenris not loving him back was justified. Fenris owed him nothing.

"And," Fenris said. He looked uncomfortable. "I. I think." His hold of Anders' hand tightened. "I don't want to be without you. These days away from you, they were torture. I believe I am capable…"

"It's all right," Anders said quickly. "You don't have to say it. I know it's difficult for you. This is … this is good enough."

"Is it truly?"

It wasn't, not at all. It was only a fraction of what Anders wanted with desperation that burned unlike any fire. Anders nodded anyway, tightness in his throat. If he asked for too much, he could lose what he had already gained. That was not a risk he was willing to take.

"Yes. It is."

"You are a dreadful liar," Fenris murmured. "And horribly, hatefully selfless." He shifted closer until he was sitting beside Anders, leaning into his side, heavy and warm. "I… Give me a moment."

Anders nodded as treacherous hope wrapped itself around his heart. Fenris rested his head on Anders' shoulder, his breathing going slow and steady in the way Anders recognised. _Into battle_.

Anders waited.

It took a long while. Fenris, who did not cower in front of any enemy, who did not fear death, was struggling with mere words. The hand that held Anders' clenched and unclenched, and every so often his steady breaths stuttered out of rhythm.

When he finally lifted his head and met Anders' eyes, he seemed frail and frightened, and suddenly, Anders understood.

The only thing Fenris feared was being enslaved, and the chains of love, as light and fragile as they may have been, were still chains. Anders was only asking a fraction of his freedom, but for someone like Fenris, every bit of it was precious. Anders had struggled for his own freedom enough that he could understand the reluctance to let go of it, and it had to be terrifying to give any part of it to a _mage_ , even one Fenris trusted.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell Fenris again he didn't have to say anything when it was costing him so much.

Fenris was faster. "I—I love you," the elf whispered. His voice was unsteady, but when he looked at Anders, there was new certainty in his eyes. "I do, Anders. I do."

Anders let out a harsh breath, his useless heart stuttering in his chest. Nothing else Fenris could ever say to him would sound as beautiful. His eyes stung, and when he squeezed them shut, he could feel the tears he'd held back escaping and rolling down his cheeks.

With his eyes still closed, he pulled Fenris into an all-consuming kiss, and the elf fell into his arms as if he belonged there, his mouth soft against Anders', lips parting the moment Anders touched them with his tongue. His arms were tight around Anders, and Anders held him back just as tightly, hands clutching at the elf's bare shoulders.

They kissed until they were both breathless, panting into each other's mouths. When Anders pulled back and opened his eyes, he found Fenris looking at him, his green gaze full of warmth.

"I missed you," Fenris said.

"I missed you too."

Fenris smiled and raised a hand to brush across Anders' cheek with his knuckles, wiping away the tears there. He was still clutching at the silk tie, and Anders caught his hand and detangled it from his fingers.

"I don't want it to get lost," he said, and reached out to place it on top of his clothes.

When he turned back to Fenris again, the elf was looking at him with something thoughtful in his gaze.

"The…" Fenris hesitated. "Your spirit. I think I need to learn to know him."

Justice shivered with eagerness in Anders' bloodstream. "He would love that," Anders said. "But you take your time."

Fenris smiled a little. "He is a part of this, a part of you, and I—I want all of you. Whatever it entails." And he leant down to kiss Anders again.

 _I love you_ , Anders thought, Justice echoing the words in his head. _I love you, I want you, I love you, I love you_.

"Make love to me," he breathed.

It sounded ridiculous, but Fenris didn't seem to mind. The elf nudged their noses together, kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands were on Anders' face, tender fingers stroking his cheeks and trailing over his nose and jaw. Even with his tattoos not alight, Anders could feel the warmth of the lyrium, almost as sweet as the brush of Fenris's lips on his skin.

"I am so sorry for hurting you," Fenris whispered.

"I know. You don't have to keep apologising."

Fenris gave him a sad little smile. "I think I do. For the rest of my life, perhaps."

"Shut up," Anders told him.

Fenris didn't. He cupped his cheek and stroked a thumb across the same place the back of his hand had stricken so many days ago. "Never again," he promised. "Never again, Anders."

"I know." Anders covered Fenris's hand with his own. "Now if you would be so kind and make love to me."

"Always so demanding, my healer."

Fenris pushed Anders down so that he was lying on his back with Fenris hovering above him. The elf looked at him, eyes soft and warm and full of emotion, and Anders realised had seen that look in them before. It had been there on that early, dark morning on the riverbank when Fenris had taken him apart with those clever hands, and again and again after that, always moments before Fenris had kissed him, or right after.

"Maker," he whispered, awed. "All this time."

And he hadn't known, hadn't realised what had been right in front of his eyes. Suddenly it didn't matter that Fenris had to struggle with words; his heart had always been in his eyes. The tender way he had touched Anders had not been an illusion. It had been Fenris's way of expressing his suppressed feelings from the start. Anders had not dared to allow himself to see it before, and Fenris had not recognised—or had been too afraid to recognise—it for what it was, but the elf may have loved Anders long before Anders had become aware of his own love.

They truly were a pair of idiots.

Fenris tilted his head to the side. "All this time what?"

Anders shook his head. "If you ever look at anyone else like that, I'll set them on fire. Or possibly you. Haven't decided yet."

Fenris blinked. "Like what?"

He couldn't know how much his eyes said, and Anders didn't explain.

"Turns out Varric was right anyway," he said instead. "I _am_ lucky in love."

He tangled his fingers in Fenris's hair and pulled the elf down into another tender kiss. Fenris came willingly, his lips parting without prompting and his tongue touching Anders'. His kisses had never been as sweet.

Anders had never wanted him more.

They kissed and kissed, breathing each other's breaths, bodies pressed as close as they could be, hands reaching to feel every inch of bare skin they could find. Each of Fenris's touches was like a blessing, and Anders didn't know how sword hilt roughened hands could be so gentle.

It took a long while before Anders could bear lifting one hand from Fenris's skin. He reached out blindly and found the familiar jar of grease by touch, fumbled it open one-handed. Still kissing, he slicked his fingers and then took a hold Fenris's hand, spreading the grease over the elf's fingers.

They didn't need to talk. Fenris's fingers made their way between Anders' legs and pushed into him without hesitation as Anders wrapped his own around the elf's hardness. They moved in time with each other, spreading the slick around, sharing pleasure and gentle touches until they were both shaking with it.

As wonderful as it was to have Fenris's fingers inside him again, touching all the right places, Anders wanted more, and he didn't want to wait. "Take me," he demanded, hand tightening around Fenris.

Without a word, Fenris slipped his fingers out. Anders tilted his hips up and guided Fenris to the right place, and then the elf was pushing into him, slow and steady. Anders whined. It didn't hurt, but it ached and burned, his body unused to being opened like that after Fenris's absence, and the elf made a soothing sound against his lips, one hand stroking Anders' side.

In the end, it was easy to relax and let it happen because it was _Fenris_. The ache eased as he got used to the stretch, all glorious and wonderful and too much. It felt right to have Fenris inside him, filling all the empty places he hadn't known were there before.

It felt like coming home.

Anders pulled Fenris closer, held him tighter, and Fenris kissed him, one arm sliding under his back to lift his hips off the bed. Anders wrapped his legs around Fenris's waist, their bodies moving together with the easy familiarity Anders had so missed.

"Anders," Fenris said, like an endearment, and Anders found his eyes prickling.

He pulled the elf down into another kiss, breathing in the scent of his skin. Maker, he'd forgotten how good shared love could make this.

"Anders," Fenris repeated, and Anders never wanted anyone else to say his name again; no one would be able to say it the way Fenris did.

"Fenris," he breathed back, trying to infuse the word with all the love and joy he felt.

He must have succeeded, because Fenris smiled at him, warm and beautiful. Each slow roll of his hips was sending sparks of pleasure though Anders' body, taking him apart a bit by glorious bit.

"Can I—can I do magic?" Anders pleaded. "Maker, let me."

"Yes, _please_."

Anders called magic to his fingers and let it sink into Fenris's skin where he was gripping the elf's arm. Fenris shivered above him, mouth falling open and eyes sliding shut. His tattoos lit up as the magic spread through his body. For a moment, his steady thrusts faltered, and then he blinked his eyes open and met Anders' gaze.

"Do you remember how I said you are your own, and I am my own?" Fenris asked, low and breathy. His hips were flush with Anders', and he stayed like that, as deep inside as he could be.

Anders nodded. His hand rose to Fenris's shoulder, spreading the magic further. "I remember."

"I am still my own." Fenris didn't resume his thrusts yet, and it was both unbearable and perfect to be filled like that. "But I am … I am yours too, now, shared on my own free will."

Anders' throat tightened and his eyes burned. He understood how special that was, how much trust it took for Fenris to say that.

"That's a gift I will never abuse," he whispered, voice hoarse. He cupped Fenris's cheek, his hand still alight with magic, and kissed him. "I am yours too, you know. And Justice. Both of us, all yours. Always."

Fenris smiled against his lips. "I know. Thank you."

He kissed Anders again, and finally began to move inside him, steady and unhurried and so very good. Anders squeezed his eyes shut, back arching as the pleasure grew. He could feel the familiar heat sinking into his flesh everywhere tattooed, glowing skin met his, and somehow, even that was better than it had been in the past. His senses were heightened, as if everything was more real than it had been ever before.

He let the magic fade from his touch but kept holding on to Fenris, his hands never leaving the elf's skin. If he could have, he would have tied their bodies together so that they would never have to part.

The measured rolls of Fenris's hips were perfect, pushing Anders closer and closer to the edge, but there was no urgency, no sign of the desperation that had always marked their shared nights. Now they both knew this would last. They had more than this one perfect night; they had all the nights they could ever wish to have.

Anders could have stayed like this, suspended in bliss forever, and been utterly happy.

"Anders," Fenris whispered. "Look at me."

Anders forced his eyes open again. Fenris was glowing softly above him, his eyes shining in a way Anders had never seem them before, and at that moment, it truly sank in that Fenris was _his_. Anders was the luckiest man in Thedas, because somehow this beautiful, dangerous, untameable creature had chosen to belong to him.

To love him.

 _Ours_. Justice's voice was bright with triumph inside his head. _Forever ours_.

Anders could only agree.

"I love you," he breathed, and nothing he had ever said had been as true.

This time, Fenris did not flinch from him.

This time, Fenris cupped his cheek and leant close, his breath warm across Anders' face as he kept thrusting into him. "I love you," the elf whispered back, his voice shaky but certain. "My perfect healer, I love you so."

Those words sent Anders tumbling over the edge, Fenris's name on his lips as his body clenched around the elf and his hips jerked up. The blue of Justice mixed with the glow of lyrium, and Fenris gasped before he followed Anders down with a low cry.

They clung to each other, both shivering, and Fenris buried his face in Anders' neck with a soft noise.

Slowly, the waves of pleasure receded, and Anders lowered his legs to the bedding. Fenris's breaths were shuddering against his collarbone, and Anders drew soothing circles over the elf's back with both hands until Fenris finally calmed and stilled in his arms.

Justice's contentment was like honey in Anders' veins, warm and sweet and golden. The spirit loved Fenris almost as much as Anders did himself. A heart, it seemed, was not always needed for love.

His movements languid, Fenris lifted his head to press his mouth on Anders'. The kiss was slow and grateful and more satisfying than any kiss they'd shared before, almost too perfect to be real.

The salt Anders tasted on Fenris's lips could have been sweat.

Anders made a perfunctory attempt to clean them both up with the edge of the sheet, but with Fenris unwilling to let go of him, there wasn't much he could do. Soon enough, he gave up and settled for holding Fenris close. That was all he had ever wanted anyway, and now, he would have it forever. He couldn't imagine anything better than spending the rest of his life with Fenris.

"Anders?" Fenris mumbled, voice low and sleepy.

"Hmm?"

"You will wear my hair tie again now?"

Anders' poor heart had been through a lot, and now it faltered again in his chest. "Always," he said, his throat tight. "Always."

Fenris made a satisfied noise and managed to shift even closer, his breath ghosting warm over Anders' skin. Anders reached down to take Fenris's hand on his own. He brought it up to his lips and pressed soft kisses on the elf's knuckles, and Fenris sighed and nuzzled his chest.

Outside his clinic, morning was slowly giving way to a new busy day for Kirkwall, but there in his bed, time was meaningless. Anders was in no hurry to join the rush of the rest of the world, and for once, neither was Justice. Thedas could survive without him and Fenris for a day or two.

Secure in the knowledge that when he woke up, Fenris would be there with him, Anders let his eyes close and allowed himself to drift off.

Anders blinked his eyes open around midday to find Fenris awake, the elf's head resting on his chest, gentle fingers drawing odd patterns on his side under the covers. Anders pulled him closer, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a stained-glass window, and Fenris let out a soft, pleased little sigh. The world seemed quiet around them, and even Justice was still peaceful and willing to stay in bed for a while longer.

"I love you," Fenris said.

Anders would never get tired of hearing that. "I love you too."

Smiling at the ceiling, he trailed his fingers over the silvery-pale brands on Fenris's back. The beautiful markings had been the start of this all, and he would be forever grateful that they had brought him and Fenris together, but they weren't what made happiness flood his bloodstream like sunlight and left his spirit so calm now.

That was all Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this long thing written for the end notes, but I'm not feeling it, so I'm just going to say _thank you_. Thank you, dear readers who've left comments and clicked that kudos button. Your support means more to me than you can ever understand.
> 
> There will be at least three short, fluffy, occasionally smutty fics related to this one that I will be posting once I manage to finish them. I hope to see some of you reading them.
> 
> Thank you 🧡


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